Author's note:

It's finally updated! Yay. Things might be patchy for a while, til I figure out a plan to pay the rent… Well, as long as I don't have to sell my laptop, I'll survive somehow ;)

Chapter 27: Elves and Goblins

Gringotts was a tall and imposing marble building, which towered over all the other busy stores in Diagon Alley. Their sojourn in Ollivanders had taken longer than expected, and it was already getting late.

"Have you ever been inside?" Amalia asked curiously as they ascended the smooth marble steps towards the gold-embossed, double-door entrance.

"No." came Riddle's unsurprising, clipped response. As a poor orphan with only a tiny allowance from Hogwarts every year, he would have had no reason to get a vault.

Amalia nodded, and then pushed the revolving glass doors with her shoulder, brushing the light snowflakes from her hair as she entered the high-ceilinged hall. It was as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but much less welcoming, and scarcely warmer than outside. She kept her coat buttoned and squared her jaw, nerving herself up for dealing with the stubborn goblins.

Gringotts was ringed with high desks at which sat rows and rows of the creatures responsible for banking. Amalia and Tom walked passed the two goblin guards at the doors, who glared at them with barely-disguised hatred from their deep-set, clever eyes. The two students glared back with just as much contempt; there was no love lost between the two races.

Amalia led the way over to a high counter, and folded her arms in irritation when she was promptly ignored. The goblin behind the desk had greased-back, stringy black hair and an especially hooked nose, which he kept buried in the ledger in front of him, quite obviously ignoring his new clients.

Amalia rolled her eyes. "Ugh. They always do this." She complained to Riddle, whose eyebrow twitched.

"How infantile." He drawled. "Perhaps height is not the only thing child-like about these creatures."

The goblin's black eyes slowly rose to glare balefully at them, causing Riddle's lip to curl into a satisfied sneer. "Now that we have your attention." He nodded at Amalia.

She shot him a grin and then turned back to the offended goblin, growing more businesslike. "Right. I'd like to enter my Vault-" She produced two items and placed it on the desk for the goblin's inspection.

The goblin's eyes narrowed slightly as he realised who she was.

"-here's my key and wand."

"I see… Miss Gray." His scratchy voice dripped with sarcastic deference, as he inspected her wand with a bored expression.

"And then," she continued firmly, "When I'm done, I want to move the contents."

This seemed to get the goblin's attention, and he looked up sharply, placing her wand down again. "…Move the contents?"

Amalia nodded briskly, standing on her tip-toes to take her wand back. "Yes, move everything."

She looked at her companion, "I've been meaning to do this for a while now." She explained. He was watching the proceedings with detached interest, lip curling as he observed the goblins around them.

"Move everything out of the Gray family vault," she ordered, "And into an ordinary numbered vault. Leave my name out of the paperwork – I'll register a false name to the key…"

The goblin shifted in his seat, his frown deepening as he steepled his long fingers. "I assure you, the security on your vault is of the highest quality – indeed, the ancient family vaults are among the most heavily guarded-"

Amalia faked a gasp, clutching her heart, "Are you saying that the ordinary vaults are not safe enough?"

He looked annoyed by her rudeness, "Of course not. All the vaults in Gringotts are impregnable-"

"Then it shouldn't matter." She said briskly.

The goblin cocked his head slightly, and licked his narrow lips. "Well…" he said, "Our ordinary vaults are not… equipped… to handle storing a fortune of that size."

Riddle folded his arms, sourly wondering just how rich Amalia was.

She wasn't deterred. "Nonsense," she scoffed breezily, "I'm sure you have one big enough. Just shove everything in there," she insisted, waving a careless hand, "I don't care about organisation."

The goblin pursed his lips. "This is most irregular…"

Amalia raised her eyebrows, "I'm sure there is paperwork I'll need to fill out?" she prompted.

Muttering to himself about the stupidity of witches and wizards, the goblin irritably got up and climbed down the small ladder on the side of his high table, before waddling slowly into a back room, no doubt to find the correct documents.

Amalia turned back to Riddle, satisfied.

"You're sure about this?" Riddle asked, raising an eyebrow.

She scoffed. "They just don't want me to move everything out of the vault because they'll lose money – you have to pay an astronomical monthly fee to use those 'family' inheritance vaults."

A sudden thought struck her. She turned to look at Riddle thoughtfully.

"What?" he demanded.

"Well," she started slowly, "Now that I'll have a new vault, I need to think about what happens to the money if I die or disappear. Before, it would stay in the family, meaning any Gray still out there could claim it. Obviously, that isn't what I want, which is the main reason for moving the money to an anonymous vault in the first place. But now, the money has nowhere to go if I disappear…"

"So?" Riddle said impatiently. She was still looking at him with a weirdly thoughtful expression.

"So… if I don't specify an heir," she continued slowly, "I'll end up making a generous contribution to Gringotts… which I also don't want, of course. That means…"

She trailed off again, biting her lip.

"What?" he demanded irritably.

"…Can I make you my heir?" she blurted.

He stared at her. "…What?" he deadpanned, in a completely different tone to before.

She laughed uncomfortably under his incredulous stare, "Well, according to Ollivander we're already married…"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and she quickly backtracked, "Just joking! Sheesh. Look, Riddle," she sighed, getting more serious, "I know I made this decision about three seconds ago, but… I know that a short time ago, we were enemies, and now… now I don't think we're even friends. But you-"

His expression didn't change at all, his obsidian eyes holding hers, unreadable.

"I mean, I have friends now, at Hogwarts," she rambled, "– But they're not… they wouldn't…" Callidora and Anne wouldn't understand. And anyway, they're probably sitting on their own hefty inheritances. She sighed. "Even if we're enemies again after Christmas… I don't care. To be honest, it never really felt right, using the money, not knowing who left it for me, or why."

He ignored her emotional last statement completely. "Let me get this straight…" he said incredulously, "You're giving away your inheritance to someone who may or not be your enemy in less than a week's time?" He was staring at her as if he was seriously questioning her sanity.

She scowled, losing patience. "Well, if you put it that way, I guess it does seem stupid. Fine, never mind." She turned her back on him with a huff. "I'll leave it all to Ringo." She snapped over her shoulder, "He can open a chain of Humping Crupps across Europe. He'll be thrilled."

"Alright," Riddle said, suddenly sounding smooth and controlled. "You've made your point. Of course I won't refuse… I was just surprised. An understandable reaction, I think."

She turned back and eyed him, not trusting the instant switch from disbelief to smoothness, the way his eyes now suddenly shone with sincerity and warmth.

It was terrifying how believable his masks could be.

"Hm?" she hummed, amused, "And as soon as you sign the document as my heir, you're going to drag me out into a back-alley and murder me, aren't you?"

He blinked innocently, as if shocked she could think so lowly of him, "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

Her eyes roved slowly over his attractive face, "I'm rarely ridiculous, Tom." She said, smirking as his warmth vanished at the deliberate use of his first name, his jaw tightening. "You're… really an uncomplicated person, I think." She mused.

His eyes gleamed dangerously, evidently taking that as an insult. "Is that so?"

She grinned, and gestured at the documents the goblin had finally returned with. "Just sign it." She made eye-contact with the goblin and said sweetly, "He's my heir, but I'd also like a second key for him." She jerked a thumb at Riddle, whose friendly demeanor had completely disappeared by now, replaced with icy shrewdness, and a hint of greed.

"See, Riddle?" She drawled, "I'll giving a key to you, so you don't need to kill me over my inheritance, alright?" Amalia was aware that she was only half-joking about that reminder.

He must have heard the hint of caution in her tone, because he smirked at her, and this time she recognised his half-malicious smile as genuine. "And what if I decide to empty your vault and run off with everything?" he taunted.

She patted his shoulder, "I guess I'll just find more." She grinned as he shrugged her off, as usual. "I'm not obsessed with wealth." She added, and the subtle barb did not go unnoticed.

"Says the rich heiress to the poor student," he sneered.

The goblin uttered an obviously fake , dry cough. "Ahem. Ms Gray… You said you require a second key?" clarified the goblin, sounding bored and simultaneously annoyed by their back-and-forth. He was holding up a big red stamp in his long-fingered hand, hovering uncertainly over the forms.

"Two keys for the new vault." Amalia confirmed, "You can register one to Tom Marvolo Riddle, with full access and inheritance rights."

The goblin glared at her. "That's a different document entirely."

Her eyebrow quirked. "Well, I suppose you'd better go fetch it, then?" she smirked, completely unrepentant.

Thunk. The stamp was put down not-so-gently on the desk as the goblin bad-temperedly turned on his heel and waddled angrily into the back room again.

It took a full hour to get all the paperwork sorted out. Finally, Amalia was allowed in to see her Vault. Since Riddle wasn't registered with her old family vault, he had to stay behind and wait, to his extreme annoyance. Amalia couldn't help but chuckle as she left him fuming in the bank hall; he was evidently keen to inspect his new fortune.

She still didn't know if it had been the right decision, but somehow the choice to share this aspect of her life with him felt very satisfying. It felt freeing. In a way, she was saying that she didn't need inherited money, didn't rely on her inheritance. It had made things easier for her, sure, but she was resourceful enough to make do without it.

And if she was being completely honest, it was also a way to spit in the face of the centuries of her stuck-up Pureblood relatives, who would no doubt turn in their graves if they found out that all their carefully hoarded treasures were being casually shared with a Half-blood.

All in all, she couldn't really think of a better option. Even if they were enemies/ occasional collaborators, he still felt like the only person close enough to leave money to. (The fact that she felt weirdly close to Riddle, of all people, was something she didn't want to overanalyse too much. She told herself firmly it had nothing to do with his hauntingly dark eyes and enigmatic smile). No one else knew as much about her as Riddle, and he seemed like an interesting, ambitious person. She had no doubt he would use the money – just by looking at the slightly fanatical way his eyes had gleamed as he signed the document and made it all official. In the short space of time to her Vault and back, he'd probably already come up with enough horrific schemes to make Dumbledore burst a blood vessel.

She hummed a pleasant tune as she entered her Vault, pouring a significant amount of gold into her bottomless satchel from the ridiculously huge pile arranged neatly near the entrance. The Galleons were stacked in towering columns almost double her height. It really was a disgusting amount for one person to own.

She made her way quickly to the back of the Vault. It was piled high with valuable heirlooms, paintings, jewelry… even antique furniture. She ignored it all (having inspected everything carefully on previous occasions) except for a spindly oak writing desk, which she approached and opened. Inside a narrow drawer was a piece of aged parchment; the only document in the whole Vault, and the only significant clue to her past.

Her eyes scanned the Deed; an address and seal of ownership ensuring her bloodline could always find the house. As it was a magical house, it would be enchanted to be hidden; the deed would allow her and Tom to circumvent the protective charms. She hoped so, anyway.

She folded the parchment carefully and tucked it away with the money, and then left without a backward glance to the gleaming hoard of treasure, her mind already focussed on whatever could be waiting for them on the Isle of Wight.

Emerging from the chilly Gringotts tunnels, Amalia was surprised to find that Riddle was nowhere to be seen. She spoke one more time with the sullen goblin who had handled their paperwork, and finally received the keys for the new vault. She was reminded that next time Riddle wished to enter the vault he would have to have his personal wand with him for identification purposes.

Finally finished, she exited the bank, and promptly had a minor heart-attack when she caught sight of Riddle standing next to a hooded, ominous-looking figure. Just a moment later and common sense reasserted itself; the figure was talking to him, and she realised it was the same person she'd glimpsed earlier, as she'd exited the manhole to the Humping Crupp.

Riddle turned at her approach, a gleam of excitement in his dark eyes. "There was someone waiting for us to come out of Gringotts. He Disapparated once he-" he jerked his head at the slightly scruffy hooded figure, "-approached. But you got a description?"

"Aye, that's right, young master," came a familiar, slightly whingey voice. Amalia recognised the ginger-bearded man from the previous night.

"You." She said in surprise, seeing a hint of ginger peeping out from beneath his cowl. She wrinkled her nose and took a discrete step back; he smelled of sour ale.

"Beggin' yer pardon for my behaviour last night, Miss," the man said hastily, throwing a nervous look at Riddle. "I was three drinks in, y'know how it goes…"

"The description," Riddle prompted irritably, "We haven't got all evening."

He scratched his chin sheepishly, "Uh, o'course, my 'pologies… He was wearing a dark blue robe, pretty standard, with short brown 'air, slightly greyin'. Kinda tall, but… borin'-lookin', y'know?" he sucked on his lip ruminatively for a moment, "…Like he should be behind a desk, not skulkin' about in this weather." He scowled up at the swirling snowflakes as if they'd personally insulted him.

Amalia's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe it…" she hissed. "After all this time?"

"It's the Unspeakable, isn't it? From the Department of Mysteries." Riddle guessed astutely.

Amalia nodded, frowning. "The one who tried to kill me two years ago. James Blishwick… Perhaps he's the one who left the deed in the vault?"

"Gringotts' security is too strong," Riddle said thoughtfully, "It's more likely he had an informant telling him when you visited the bank."

"But I've been to the bank many times before…" She pointed out, and then closed her eyes in realisation, "But I've never been inside for such a long time... Previously, by the time anyone came to the bank I'd already be finished. Damn," she gave a short laugh, "We almost got ambushed because of paperwork."

"Need anythin' else?" offered the man, sniffing nasally, "Would like t'get outta this weather."

Amalia reached into her satchel and retrieved a few Sickles, "Here, for your trouble… Don't mention anything about us if you're approached," she warned, "I'll get you banned from the Humping Crupp if you do."

"O'course!" he nodded, counting the Sickles greedily, "I wouldn't do summat like that, on me life."

"Wait," Riddle abruptly stopped him. "One more thing." He glanced sidelong at Amalia, then said very deliberately, "What's the quickest way to get to the Isle of Wight? That's where the house is, right?" he asked Amalia.

She caught on, and nodded cautiously. "That's right. Near the town of Brading." She resisted the urge to look around, suddenly sure that they were being watched.

The man shrugged, "Most places have a workin' Floo Network. You could get to the town easy enough like that – an' the Isle o' Wight ain't too far from London. Never been there meself, though…"

"That's all. Thanks for your help."

They stood quietly in the snow as he waved a brief farewell, again preoccupied with counting his silver, and shuffled away.

Amalia moved closer to Riddle, shivering in the twilit street. It was almost Christmas Eve, and Diagon Alley was emptying as shops closed. "Do you think he's still watching us?" she murmured, her eyes darting around. The cheerful cobbled street was suddenly filled with unknown dangers.

"I certainly hope so." Riddle replied with a razor-sharp smile. "Let's go get our luggage. We can travel by Floo Network and get to that town – Brading, was it?- tonight."

"Last chance to turn back, have a normal holiday," Amalia said quietly, "We can still just lay low the next few days, get through Christmas… If we go now, and the Ministry's involved, they'll definitely be able to track us once we're in the Network," she warned.

He grinned, and she couldn't help an involuntary, pleasurable shiver at the sheer malice in the expression, the way his eyes promised such darkness. "I'm not interested in a normal holiday. And I don't think you are, either."

One hour later…

With the help of Ringo, and an old map of the Floo Network, they were able to plan their route to Brading, Isle of Wight, in short order. There was a grate connected to the network just on the outskirts of the town.

"Are you sure about this?" fretted Ringo, offering Amalia a handful of glittering green dust from a pot. In her other hand she gripped the handle of her truck tightly. It was enchanted to be almost weightless, so it would be easy to transport by Floo.

"I'm sure. Goodbye, Ringo, and thanks for your help." She said decisively, and nodded at Riddle, "Don't take too long following me." She warned, and cleared her throat.

"Brading, Isle of Wight!" she enunciated clearly, and threw the powder down. In a rush of leaping green flames just warm enough to tickle, she was instantly swept away, closing her eyes against the dizzying flashes of grates as she passed them.

In just a few seconds, though it seemed longer, she was spat out of a stone fireplace, almost losing her balance as she landed. She glanced around with cautious eyes, and was surprised to find herself in the ruins of an old stone house, with just the distant hooting of an owl breaking the silence. It was utterly still, and she stared up through where a roof used to be, at the inky black sky above her, the stars like pinpricks. The white snow lay like a blanket over everything, and through the space where a door used to be, she saw white, rolling fields downhill, to where a small town was nestled in the hills, the cheerfully warm lights from their windows glimmering like candles.

Riddle stepped out of the grate beside her, without stumbling at all, and surreptitiously brushed a bit of ash from his coat. He looked around.

"So, this is it." He remarked.

"Seems so." Amalia shrugged, and pointed. "There's Brading, obviously. Looks very quaint." She dug in her satchel for the deed. "The Gray estate should be close by…"

Riddle inspected the grate with narrowed eyes. "This hasn't been used in a while," he mused. "Either magical folk have another way of getting to the village, or they're not travelling here anymore."

Amalia looked up from the deed. "I would assume there's wards around this ruin; to Muggles it's probably blocked up or overgrown… But I agree, no one's been here in a long time."

"So?" he prompted, straightening. He arched an eyebrow, "What's next? We haven't been ambushed yet." He sounded a bit disappointed.

Amalia sighed. "That's another problem. The Trace will definitely be active, so close to Muggles and with no wizarding folk nearby. We'll have to be extra careful, before you go cursing anyone with an illegal wand." She nodded at the black-market wand he held loosely in one hand.

"Well," he said drily, "If Ollivander is right, it's worse than useless anyway."

Amalia hesitated. "Do you want the wand we won from yesterday's stalker?" she asked. "I really don't want to use my own wand unless absolutely necessary – Dumbledore might check it back at school – but we should both be reliably armed."

He wordlessly held out a hand, stowing the unreliable one in his coat.

She passed him the wand, and then they looked at the deed.

"Now," Amalia said, using the light of the moon to squint at the writing, "West of Brading, apparently. Um… which way is west?" They both looked at each other, nonplussed. An education at Hogwarts had not prepared them for muggle travel.

Amalia pursed her lips. "I know about seven different navigational spells which would be really useful right now…! If I could just-"

"What about there?" pointed Riddle abruptly, interrupting her. She followed the line of his arm and blinked. There was a small forest on a hill next to the town, with a winding path disappearing into it only a short distance away.

"Huh." She said, surprised, "That seems... likely. Worth a try, I guess."

They set off towards the forest, Amalia dragging her trunk and Riddle taking a slight lead, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. But the fields were silent and still.

"The Trace should be less of a problem once we find this house," Riddle remarked as they entered the trees. Everything was frozen, the leafless trees skeletal and grey, scraping the black sky. "That is, if the Grays are anything like other Pureblood estates… Saturated with concealment wards and charms."

Amalia snorted. "You're probably right. Well, being in possession of the deed should render the concealment charms void for us."

They came to a small stone bridge, and Amalia paused briefly. "I hope this doesn't take much longer," she muttered, her breath misting on the air in front of her. She rubbed her hands, trying to get some warmth back into her fingers. Then she picked up the handle of her trunk again and rejoined Riddle, who was waiting impatiently on the other side.

Together they ascended a small rise, and then rounded a corner. Instantly, they knew they had arrived.

Appearing out of the gloom like a stain spreading on cloth, the enchantment hiding the building lifted, peeling back to reveal a gothic-style mansion, complete with black slate facades and carved gargoyles on the eaves. It reached up three storeys, slightly crooked and very, very ominous-looking.

"Merlin's beard," Amalia gaped, actually taking a small step back. She looked revolted. "This is… Could it say 'evil pureblood' any clearer?"

Riddle frowned, turning his head slightly as he tried to see the twisted expressions of pain carved on the gargoyles. "It has a certain… appeal." He said unconvincingly.

"If you're a vampire!" Amalia exclaimed. She huffed. "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting picket fences and rose gardens, but this is so… Ugh!"

Riddle rolled his eyes. "You're comments on the décor are not why we came out here." He reminded her, "Let's get closer and see if anyone's home."

"Okay." She looked grimly prepared for a confrontation.

Tom raised the wand she'd given him; the one that worked for him without problems. It still felt wrong, though. Weak, and slow. He wasn't able to stop a covetous glance at Amalia's elm wand, which he knew felt almost as powerful as his own in his hands.

She didn't notice his greedy glance, preoccupied with grim anticipation.

They strode up to the front doors, an imposing double-door of solid wood painted black. There was a snarling wolf door-knocker, which Amalia promptly used, the ostentatious metallic object making a heavy clanging noise which they heard echo within. There were no lights in the windows or smoke from the chimney, but that didn't mean no one was home.

There was a profound silence.

And then…

The faint noise of approaching feet, pattering closer and closer on the other side of the door…

Amalia stepped back and hastily raised her wand, tensing.

Scritch scratch went the sound of a key in a rusty lock, and the heavy sound of a deadbolt sliding open. Then, with a theatrical creak, the heavy doors swung open… to reveal…

A skinny female house-elf standing in the door, hands on hips and pursed lips. She was warmly dressed from head to toe in diminutive clothes that looked like they had been sown from a patchwork quilt.

They stared at each other for a few, long seconds.

"Well," Riddle's smooth drawl was the first to break the silence, "Anyone you recognise, Gray? Or is this an elaborate part of an ambush that I'm not getting."

"Um…" Amalia said, unhelpfully.

But at Riddle's words, the elf's luminous yellow-green eyes boggled. "You're a Gray?!" exclaimed the diminutive house-elf, in a high-pitched voice with a slight lisp, so that it sounded more like 'Gway'.

Amalia nodded carefully. "Um, yes. Are you-"

The house-elf's eyes bulged even more, and then she suddenly turned her head and bellowed over her shoulder in a surprisingly strong voice, "OI! EVERYONE! There's a Gray here! The Grays have returned! THE GRAYS HAVE RETURNED!"

There was a sudden outbreak of loud and excited chatter, of countless voices in the house beyond, with high-pitched exclamations-

"-What?"

"-WHAT?!"

"Did you hear-"

"-Grays have returned!"

"Grays?! Did she say-"

The diminutive house-elf standing in the doorway abruptly flew down the front steps and grabbed Amalia by the sleeve, tugging her with –again surprising, considering her size- strength. Bemused, Amalia shot a slightly helpless look at Riddle and let herself get tugged in. Looking amused and equally taken aback, he followed her.

She was pulled rapidly down a narrow passageway covered in dust and cobwebs, with barely a moment to glance with wide eyes at family paintings of arrogant-looking men and women with fair skin and brown eyes, before she was yanked into a large sitting-room. She was finally released.

"Whoah." She said, staring in shock at the veritable sea of faces staring at her and Tom, blinking owlishly and chattering amongst themselves. There must have been about thirty house-elves, of varying ages, shapes and sizes, all perched on some item of furniture and dressed in rag-tag , home-made clothes. She noticed that over every couch and table – even the mantelpiece – a dusty, yellowing cloth had been draped. The house had been abandoned by her family for some time already. Above the mantelpiece was hung a white banner of some kind, with a horrendously drawn blob on it, which Amalia realised after a few seconds of confused squinting, was the profile of a house-elf's head drawn with charcoal. Underneath was written in a shaky hand "B.F.E."

The young house-elf who had opened the door leapt up onto a covered coffee-table, the movement raising a cloud of dust, and waved her arms wildly for silence. The other house-elves' chatter died down quickly, as they turned expectant eyes on her, settling in like church-goers at a sermon.

"Didn't I tell you," she started shrilly, "Didn't I foresee this day coming?!" she stamped her foot, "The day that the masters return and enslave us, the Born Free Elves, once again?!"

A dismayed murmur arose from the crowd.

Amalia coughed, "Ahem, actually, there's no need for-"

"Here it comes!" wailed the elf, dragging her fingers through her wispy hair, "The orders! The commands! The punishments!"

The other elves wailed enthusiastically.

Amalia pursed her lips. "Actually, if you could just answer a few questions-"

The house-elf gasped. "For example, why aren't the beds made? The floors not swept? The dishes not washed? The hedge not trimmed?!" with every utterance she grew more and more excited, skipping from foot to foot and wringing her hands.

"No, I-"

The house-elf swan-dived off the table, to prostrate herself dramatically at Amalia's feet. "Of course, Mistress, it will all be done as you say, immediately. Just spare the old ones from the brunt of your rage-"

"This is ridiculous." Amalia commented in exasperation to Riddle, who nodded his agreement.

"They're not listening." He commented.

The house-elf scrambled to her feet and rounded on the other, wide-eyed elves. "Did you hear that?! You aren't listening!" she hissed furiously, and snapped her fingers at them. The front row leapt nervously to their feet, shuffling uncertainly.

She filled her lungs and then bellowed, "Quick, up, go! Make the beds, sweep the halls, wash the windows! Tilly, start supper, Podkins, do the weeding! Kurmit, Mel and Troggo, get out all the best silver and get polishing!" Suddenly all the house-elves were darting in all directions busily, squeaking agreements and hurrying about with cheerfully harassed-looking expressions. The loud one strode out after them, still rapping out instructions like a drill sergeant.

"What an odd little creature." Remarked Riddle, watching the flurry of cleaning commence.

"Perhaps we should wait until they've calmed down a bit," suggested Amalia, stepping back as a diminutive elf bowed several times and then furiously scrubbed at the wooden planks under her feet.

Meanwhile, another elf cheerfully ripped their "Born Free Elf" banner down from the wall, and then tossed it into the flames of the fire that another had lit in the grate.

"I'm so confused." Admitted Amalia, sinking down onto a couch, releasing a cloud of dust. "Did we just enslave a house of elves?"

Riddle grabbed the arm of an elf passing by. "Bring us some tea and something to eat." He ordered. The elf squeaked a terrified reply in the affirmative and scurried off.

"Riddle." Amalia said, exasperated.

He turned to her with an arrogant grin, "What? Might as well get comfortable while we try to figure this out."

The loud female elf who'd answered the door returned less than a minute later, bearing a laden tray of steaming tea and crumpets. "Shall I pour for you, Mistress?" the elf simpered with an exaggerated bow.

"I'm not your Mistr-" Amalia eyed the tea, and sighed, giving up. "Oh, go on, then."

Author's note:

Thoughts? Predictions? The next chapter is very plot and action-heavy, and coming soon... probably... unless I run out of food money before then... Wish me luck!