Author's note:

Wow, thanks for the overwhelmingly positive response to my last update! I'm so glad people love Amalia as much as I do :) I got tons of reviews, which is always appreciated.

Chapter 28: Trust

Amalia silently observed the little elf busily pouring the tea with a considering gaze. Her patchwork clothes were obviously hand-sewn, the seams crooked and uneven, yet Amalia could tell the she wore it with great pride. It was thick and warm for winter, and the mismatched patches were colourful; red velvet, green wool, and purple cotton, among others. It was not the cleanest, but it seemed to suit her quick and dramatic personality rather well. The sleeves were a bit loose on her skinny frame. As she used both knobbly hands to heft the ornate tea pot, the sleeves kept slipping off her narrow shoulders, only to be briskly tweaked into place again with a practiced shrug.

Amalia smiled slightly, amused by the knitted beanie that was hooked over one ear, the other leaf-like appendage perking upwards as she fastidiously arranged the crumpets on a plate with a pair of silver tongs.

"Is the crumpets to Master's liking?" she asked, bowing her head deferentially to where Riddle was already munching away. "If it is not satisfactory, Pippy can iron her fingers until-"

"That won't be necessary!" Amalia immediately exclaimed, shooting Riddle a warning look, since his eyes had just lit up with cruel hilarity at the horrible suggestion.

He rolled his eyes and took another crumpet, placing it in his mouth as his eyes roamed around the room for other victims to torment. Amalia didn't miss his casual gesture of sweeping crumbs onto the floor, right in front of the nose of an elf who had just cleaned there. His lips twitched up into a faint smile as the creature began to dutifully scrub the floor all over again.

Amalia grimaced and turned back to the elf who was now straightening the milk jug, sugar cube bowl, and other miscellaneous items of the tea set into neat lines. She took a sip of her freshly poured tea, relishing the warmth after their long trek in the snow. It was slightly too sweet for her taste, but she knew better now than to comment on it; the elf might just commit ritual suicide out of shame.

"Will Mistress be requiring-"

"Your name is Pippy." Amalia interrupted, surveying the elf over the rim of her cup.

Pippy blinked her luminous green-yellow eyes, startled into meeting Amalia's curious gaze at last. "Yes, Mistress." She replied, and fidgeted nervously under the scrutiny.

Amalia had a sudden realisation. "… Is this the first time you've served a… a Mistress or Master?"

Pippy made an odd jerking movement, eyes growing impossibly wide, "Is- is Mistress angry with my incompetence…?" she gasped, "Is it so obvious that I'm n-not- n-not… good enough- hic-"

To Amalia's horror, great fat tears seemed to be gathering in the corners of Pippy's large eyes, threatening to spill over, as she made an oddly strangled noise like a cough, holding back sobs.

"No, no!" she hastily assured the elf, putting down her tea uncertainly, "Nothing of the sort! Um, please… Don't be upset-"

With a tremendous effort, Pippy seemed to regain her composure somewhat, straightening her hat and nervously picking at her clothes. "Th-then… How did Mistress know?" she asked nasally, sniffing.

Amalia sighed, inordinately relieved not to have a sobbing elf on her hands on top of everything else. "Just… a general feeling." She said evasively. "Well, it's my first time being served by an elf… elves… too." she admitted in an attempt to calm the poor creature down. It wasn't strictly accurate; she was aware Hogwarts was full of elves. But she'd never seen one or been served directly by one, so in essence it was true. This was a first for her.

Pippy seemed to relax marginally at this, and rallied herself rather quickly, suddenly wearing an enthusiastic grin, "Well then… leave it all to me, Mistress," she gushed, "I'll learn quickly, and take care of all your needs – get the house back in tip-top shape in no time-"

"I'm not too concerned with that." Amalia said bluntly. "Riddle and I are going back to Hogwarts after Christmas anyway, and-"

"Mistress is leaving?!" shrieked Pippy, leaping about a foot into the air. A few other nearby elves stopped to stare as panic entered her lamp-like eyes. "But Mistress just got here!" she said desperately, "Is Pippy not good enough for-"

Amalia felt the beginnings of a headache starting. "Right." She snapped, losing her patience. "Sit down and be quiet," she pointed at the couch sternly, "Enough with the hysterics!"

Pippy stared at her in shock, then hastily did as she was told, jumping up to perch, quivering, on the edge of the couch as instructed, her woollen sock-clad feet dangling off the edge.

"Now, let's get a few ground-rules established," Amalia growled, and drained her tea decisively, setting her cup down with a clink in the saucer. Pippy twitched, her mouth opening to no doubt offer to refill the cup, but Amalia just stopped and fixed her with a flat stare. "Not a word, Pippy." She growled, pouring herself more tea. "Don't even move." The elf's sallow skin flushed pink to the tip of the ear that was visible under her lop-sided hat, and she made an odd bow, and then froze guiltily.

Amalia watched her carefully as she stirred her tea. "You can breathe, for Merlin's sake." She muttered dryly, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes as the house-elf gasped dramatically for air.

"Right. Ground-rules. First," Amalia said firmly, "No more of this 'Mistress' business. It's singularly annoying. You can call me Amalia-" she sighed as Pippy looked like she was about to have a seizure, "Or… if you'd prefer, Miss Gray."

Pippy hesitated, and then nodded slowly.

"Thank goodness," muttered Amalia. Item one was dealt with. She glanced at Riddle. "His name is-"

"You can continue calling me Master." Riddle cut her off with a smirk, lounging back on the couch. He swung his feet carelessly up onto the armrest, watching in amusement as another house-elf squeaked in dismay at the mud soiling the furniture, fluttering anxiously nearby with a cloth poised in his hand.

Amalia scowled. "Riddle, feet off my couch." She swallowed down the sudden, uncomfortable flip of her stomach at her own, automatic use of the word 'my'.

To her surprise, he indulgently obeyed, smirking all the while. Perhaps the crumpets and suddenly coming into possession of a small army of willing slaves had put him into a rare, good mood, for once.

Someone alert the media, Amalia thought wryly, shooting him one last warning glare before turning back to her (newly compliant) elf.

"Next," she said officiously, "I want you to stop speaking of punishments. I have no need of – no, scratch that, I have no desire to witness or hear of you and the rest of these elves self-harming in any way," she said firmly, "It's unnecessary and barbaric - I'm very serious about this." She read the dubious look in Pippy's eyes and realised that the elves would probably find a loophole to this order. They were biologically driven to it.

Before this, it was true that she'd never met an elf, but she'd certainly read about them. And been utterly appalled by the whole system. She was not exactly a champion of the weak, herself, but something seemed wrong about forcing a race of sentient creatures into servitude, when magic was more than capable of taking care of your every domestic need. However, this was the way they had been bred, for generations… and she realised now from Pippy's extreme behaviour that she would have to be clever here. She needed to make a logical argument… Somehow using their own warped inferiority-complexes.

"If you hurt yourselves," she said slowly, carefully thinking her words through, "Well, that impacts on your ability to work, doesn't it? Even a punishment that is merely painful or even uncomfortable still affects your focus and efficiency. So… an apology would suffice." Pippy was shaking her head wildly. Amalia chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Or," she invented, "If you feel your mistake was particularly bad… like, you accidently knocked over a priceless family heirloom and smashed it to bits-"

Pippy uttered a dismayed squeak and hugged her sides at the mere thought.

"-well, then perhaps you could think up a boring or mundane task to do… as a punishment, of course."

Pippy was frowning so hard her small face resembled a raisin. "…A mundane task?" she repeated in disbelief, forgetting in her confusion about the order to remain quiet.

Amalia nodded solemnly. "Like… writing out lines. Or… perhaps… re-alphabetising a bookshelf."

Pippy seemed bemused by this strangely non-violent form of penitence.

"Good. That's settled, then." Amalia said firmly, taking her confused silence as acceptance. "Next, I want you to listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you about myself and Riddle here, and our plans for the next few days, and then I want you to answer some of my questions. Can you do that for me, Pippy?"

The house-elf sat up a little straighter. "Y-yes, of course, Mistr- I mean, uhm… Miss… Gray?"

Amalia nodded sagely. "Very good, Pippy. That's an excellent start."

Pippy beamed at the praise, her hat almost falling off, and Amalia quickly went on, worried about her losing her focus.

"So, tell me. How did so many elves come to live in this house?"

Pippy blinked at the question. "…So many?" she repeated, sounding baffled.

Amalia nodded wryly, "Yes, it's unusual for a household to have more than one or two elves… And this place isn't even that big." It was three storeys, but the rooms weren't that spacious. She hadn't had a proper look around just yet, but it didn't feel like a massive house.

Pippy's eyes were wide. "Oh. I didn't know, Miss Gray. Well…" she pointed helpfully, "That's my uncle, Tribbin, and over there, my cousins, Mags, Troggo, and Hutchkins," she pointed to the opposite side, "My aunts Millie and Gilly, my uncle Ollie, next to them my Great-Aunt Gretchen… Um…" she craned her head, "There, polishing the silver is my cousin Midge, and-"

"I think I understand." Amalia interrupted. "They're all related to you, in some way?" she said, astounded.

Pippy nodded proudly. "My family has always served the Grays," she confirmed, then looked down with a sigh, "We lived in the garden shed… Before."

Amalia looked up sharply, and noted Riddle taking an interest in the conversation again. "…Before?" she prompted, balling her hands in her lap. Was she finally going to get some answers? "Before what?"

Pippy looked her dead in the eye and said sadly, "Before Master Gray killed everyone."

Amalia's tea cup shattered suddenly in its saucer, the pieces irreparably split into jagged shards.

Pippy flinched and avoided her eyes. "Th-that's why Pippy was so surprised at seeing Mistr- Miss Gray," the elf hastily explained, "Pippy did not know that Master took you – Pippy was too young to serve in the house when it happened-"

"When." Amalia said coldly, her face pale. Riddle was watching her carefully. "When did it happen?"

Pippy licked her lips nervously, shivering in the sudden chill which seemed to have permeated the room. "Pippy thinks it must be… nine years ago?" she said tentatively.

"Nine-!" Amalia cut herself off, breathing hard.

"You would have been five years old." Riddle said thoughtfully. He turned to the house-elf, since Amalia seemed to need some time to process this. "Elf, it was Alric Gray?" he clarified.

Pippy nodded rapidly. "Yes, Master."

"And who exactly did he kill?" Riddle demanded, sparing a glance at Amalia, whose face was like a cold mask.

Under their combined scrutiny, Pippy fidgeted uncomfortably. "Mistress Gray…" she whispered.

"My mother." Amalia said blankly.

"Y-yes, Miss Gray." Pippy confirmed, "We laid her to rest in the Gray cemetery, just down the hill."

Amalia swallowed. "Was there anyone else…? Siblings, or-"

Pippy shook her head, and then hesitated, "Well, also…"

"Spit it out." Riddle snapped impatiently, when it became clear Pippy had clammed up.

Amalia snapped out of her daze, taking in Pippy's sad expression, "… Your parents?" She realised.

Pippy nodded slowly, her eyes watering again. Riddle turned away with an impatient huff, losing interest again.

But Amalia nodded at her to continue, feeling a weird kinship with the strange little elf.

"They were the house-elves in service… But Pippy doesn't remember much from that time."

Amalia frowned. "Wait… so… how old are you?" she asked, baffled.

Pippy straightened her sleeves proudly, "Just turned eleven last month, Miss Gray." she replied.

Amalia stared. "What? You're still a child!"

Pippy shook her head emphatically, "House-elves are not considered children after the age of six, Miss Gray," she explained promptly, "Since we reach full physical size, we can work."

Amalia shook her head disbelievingly. "That's disgusting," she muttered. Slavery was one thing, but child slavery was even worse. Whatever the developmental speed of elves, it was obvious now that Pippy still had the mentality of a child. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

"How interesting." Riddle said sarcastically, "So? Where did Alric go? How did it all start?"

Pippy shrugged, eyes wide and innocent. "I don't know, Master. Pippy was too little and the others weren't allowed in the house."

"No witnesses…" Amalia muttered. "He just took me and left. Is that why the others listen to you?" she said, pushing aside her own questions for the moment, "Because your parents were the last to be in service?"

Pippy nodded, regaining some of her perkiness. "Yes! Pippy is now honoured to be in the service of a Gray once more-"

"And what about the Born Free Elves?" Amalia asked drily, glancing at the fireplace where the banner had almost completely burnt away.

Pippy flushed. "My apologies, Miss Gray, there'll be no more talk of such traitorous ideas-"

"I don't mind." Amalia interrupted. "How about this? You can be my-" she glanced at Riddle, who raised an eyebrow, "Our personal house-elf, and the others can live… I don't know. Wherever there's space, I suppose... Where are you all sleeping at the moment?"

"The cellar, Miss Gray," Pippy answered promptly.

Amalia nodded, "Well, if you're all happy there, then stay. In a few days we'll be going back to Hogwarts, but I suppose you can keep the place clean while we're away." She stifled a sigh at the obvious delight Pippy had at receiving all these orders.

"That's very generous of you, Miss Gray," She gushed. "I'll take care of it!"

"I'm sure you will." She deadpanned. "Now, is there another elf I can speak to about Alric?" she refused to say 'my father', feeling like she might be physically sick if she did. "Perhaps one who knew him… Before."

Pippy nodded vigorously. "Oh yes. For that, you'll want to speak with Granny."

Amalia glanced around the room at the busy elves. "Which one is she?" she asked.

Pippy grinned, "Granny is downstairs, Miss Gray." She leapt up eagerly, "I can take you to see her?"

Amalia nodded, and stood up. "Good. Let's go."

Riddle smiled thinly and stood. "Perhaps we can get some useful answers." He drawled nastily, looking down his nose at the oblivious Pippy. He neatly sidestepped Amalia's half-hearted kick at his shins.

Down in the cellar, they discovered that the space was covered with makeshift beds of various blankets and threadbare cushions and old drapes and diminutive mattresses, all arranged in no particular order at all. Some of them looked more like nests than beds.

Pippy led the way, taking Amalia's hand and leading her through the maze of clutter to the back, where a candle-lit space had been built with bits of wood panelling and planks, to make a sort of cubicle. A thread-bare couch stood on one side.

"Pippy, who's this?" came a crusty voice from behind the planks, the shadows flickering as a frail figure moved in front of the candle-light.

Pippy pulled a piece of plywood (which Amalia realised was supposed to be a door) open, and curtseyed deferentially. "Granny," she said cheerfully, "You'll never guess!" she promptly launched into a rather detailed re-telling of their arrival.

"We did not instantly 'demand your eternal servitude'," Amalia corrected drily, "Pippy, calm down."

"You might have to wait a while for that," Came a wheezy chuckle, cutting off Pippy's immediate plea for forgiveness, "But her heart's in the right place."

Amalia and Riddle turned to face the owner of the voice, as Pippy skipped back, out of the way.

Out of the makeshift wooden partition came a curious contraption; a kind of box with creaky wheels, like a child's wheelbarrow, upon which sat an ancient, wizened elf with wispy white hair and milky, huge eyes, nestled in a pile of blankets. She moved about slowly using her gnarled hands to turn the wheels.

"House-elves need a purpose, you see." The ancient elf continued, sounded much less subservient than the other elves upstairs. "We were made that way. Young Pippy tries to find purpose in her dreams of a 'House-elf rebellion'," she snorted, "But as you can see, it's doomed to fail from the start."

"Who are you?" asked Amalia curiously. Staring at the ancient house-elf's wrinkled face, she felt the strings of her damaged memories being tugged. "You seem… familiar."

The old house-elf blinked her large, milky eyes sadly. "You were only a child barely my height when I last saw you… and I wasn't blind then."

"Mina." Breathed Amalia, wincing as her temples throbbed, "Y-yes, I remember you." She sank down onto the threadbare couch, trying to make sense of the brief flashes of memory she had – not of this place, but of the house-elf's kindly face.

Mina nodded, her eyes slightly moist. She wheeled herself closer with a squeak of rusty hinges, "Welcome home, Mistress."

Riddle leant against the side of the couch with a huff. "How touching." He deadpanned. "Tell us what happened." He ordered.

Amalia sniffed – either from dust or emotion, she wasn't sure, and nodded, "Yes, they- They took all my memories, Mina," she explained thickly, "I don't know what happened to me."

"I didn't know where they took you, after you left…" Mina said sadly, "I would have come, if I knew where Master Alric had taken you-"

"Tell me." She asked. "Please. Anything. Everything."

Mina nodded. "Pippy, go upstairs." She ordered, and to Amalia's surprise she (reluctantly) obeyed without comment, leaving them to talk alone with the old elf.

"It was horrible, Mistress, just horrible." Mina started, her voice shaking slightly. "I didn't see it happen… No one left that house alive except Master Alric and you."

"Why would he do it?" Riddle demanded, clearly impatient with all the emotion. But Amalia could tell he was just as engrossed in the story as she was.

Mina took a moment to compose herself. "You have to understand, Mistress," she began hesitantly, "Your parents were not what people would consider… hm… friendly." She fidgeted. "There's a reason Pippy is so against house-elf enslavement… and a large part of that is from growing up hearing about how we – that is, the last working Gray house-elves – were treated."

"Go on." Prompted Amalia.

"You were different," Mina hastily assured her, "I could tell right away, you didn't have a mean bone in your body, even as a child… I remember you cried for about three hours once because you touched a butterfly's wings, and when you asked what was wrong, I had to explain that it wouldn't be able to fly again."

Riddle snorted scornfully. "Butterflies, Gray?"

She ignored him. "I don't remember." She said softly.

"It was a long time ago." Shrugged the elf. "Anyway, your parents… were hard people. They both worked at the Ministry most days, until quite late."

Amalia and Riddle exchanged meaningful glances.

"I'm not sure what department it was…" mused the old elf thoughtfully, as if, even blind, she could pick up on their interest, "But they were very secretive about it. They barely had any time for you, which was perhaps a good thing…" her nostalgic smile faded. "Then, a few days after your third birthday, everything changed."

"What happened?" Amalia asked, feeling incredibly tense.

"You got your magic… very early for a young witch, I believe. Your mother walked into the living room and almost had a heart attack; you had somehow formed the flames in the fireplace into a shape of the cat, and you were making it play with your blocks, leaving scorch-marks all over the carpet…"

Amalia absorbed this news, feeling odd. She had no memory of it, but it felt right… like looking at a photograph of someone you used to know, but can't quite place the name of.

"The cat was orange…" she said suddenly. "That's why I thought the fire looked like him."

Mina nodded. "That's right."

"So how did my mother… Medea? …react to that?"

"Well, she was thrilled, of course," Mina continued, "For all her flaws, your mother did love you, you know. Maternal love is a strong force," she nodded sagely. "Strong indeed."

Amalia had the fleeting thought that if all the house-elves in the house were her offspring and relations, she would certainly be an expert in maternal feelings.

"And… Alric?" she couldn't help her distaste at the mere name of the man.

Mina's expression darkened, "He was excited for a different reason. I don't know the details, but there was some project at the Ministry that he wanted you to be involved in – your mother understandably refused. They argued, for weeks, and then months. The rift between them grew, until they never spoke without fighting. Eventually, he left…"

She waved a hand vaguely, "That's when we packed everything up. Mistress Medea had decided to move; she was afraid he would come back for you… and she was right. We should have left sooner, but… On your fifth birthday…"

"He came back. He killed her."

Mina wiped tears from her eyes with shaking fingers. "He did, yes. I'm glad you don't remember it. No child should have to watch their parents get murdered."

"Then, he took me." Amalia finished quietly.

Mina nodded. "I couldn't get to the house in time." She said miserably, indicating her legs, "For the same reason I was no longer working. I had moved out to the shed to join the others, and raise young Pippy-"

"How did your legs get injured?" questioned Amalia, frowning.

Mina shrugged. "Disobeying the order of the master or mistress means punishment… the more severe the transgression, the harsher the punishment. It is the way of the world for us."

Amalia's eyes widened, horrified, "It was a punishment…?"

Mina nodded. "But, like I said, your parents were not the nicest people. To be honest," she said quietly, "You were the only Gray I ever shed a tear for, when he took you. I'm glad to know you haven't changed."

Amalia swallowed, feeling uncharacteristically emotional about this ancient creature. "How do you know I haven't changed?" she asked in a low voice, twisting her hands in her lap. "I... don't remember who I used to be."

"Because you came all the way down here to meet me." Mina answered simply, "Instead of sitting by the fire and ordering me to go upstairs. And above all else, Pippy trusts you. I noticed she is still wearing her clothes."

Amalia shrugged. "Well, I was wondering how long it would take for her to realize she's still technically free."

Mina smiled. "I'm blind, so I can't tell if there's a physical resemblance… but I can tell you that you're nothing like them."

Amalia was surprised by how relieved she felt to hear that.

Back upstairs, Riddle and Amalia had an impromptu strategy meeting.

"So," Riddle started, hungrily eyeing the dinner table that the elves were setting with cutlery, "Alric is the one who is responsible for everything, it seems."

Amalia nodded grimly, "And there's obviously some connection to the Ministry, although it's all very confusing…" she sighed. "I'm not sure what our next move is. I'll have to poke around the house to see if he left anything about his job here… But somehow I doubt it."

Riddle considered. "One thing is certain, though," he said, "The Ministry will know we're here. James Blishwicke followed us at the bank, and odds are that they've tracked us by the Floo Network to this town… But I'm assuming they don't know the exact location of the house. So him, or others, will be searching nearby… That's an opportunity we can't pass up on."

"Ambush, then?" Amalia frowned, "Are we ambushing, or playing the bait to be ambushed?"

Riddle grinned wolfishly. "You're bait," he said smugly, "And I'm the ambusher."

"Fantastic," muttered Amalia sarcastically, "Tomorrow-"

But Riddle was shaking his head. "No, this happens tonight."

"Tonight?!" she yelped.

Riddle glanced at the set table, finished except for an industrious elf polishing a silver fork, "…Well, after dinner." He allowed.

"What's the rush?" Amalia demanded, feeling prickly. It had been an emotional roller-coaster for her already, and she wanted nothing more than to eat, then sleep. Riddle was evidently a night-owl, though, as he seemed fully awake and uncharacteristically energetic.

"They might find the house and be waiting outside by morning," he reasoned persuasively, "Or they might give up and return to London. And if something does happen, we'll be able to stay hidden from muggles or escape more easily in the dark."

"I suppose that makes sense." Amalia said dubiously, still thrown by his enthusiasm. Was he planning something? "I certainly have a lot of questions that need answering." She sighed, fingering her wand speculatively. "I can take a walk back to the Floo Network grate, while you follow and watch my back? Then, we can spring a trap on anyone who approaches me."

"Sounds good." Riddle concluded, and then hastened to take a seat at the head of the table as a steaming tureen of leek and onion soup was placed down, along with a decoratively carved wooden board of sliced, crusty bread.

Amalia chuckled, amused despite her growing nerves, and sat down on his right.

Riddle smiled. She froze, and narrowed her eyes at him as he solicitously ladled some soup into her bowl. Return of the demonic butler, she thought to herself.

The hairs on the back of her neck started prickling.

"Riddle…" she said cautiously. "I can trust you, right?"

His smile didn't falter. "But of course." He made an encouraging motion. "Eat up, Amalia."

She blinked at the sound of her name, and discretely checked that her wand was within easy reaching distance. Eyeing him suspiciously, she tasted the soup. It was delicious.

And she had no choice but to trust him.

Author's note:

Trusting Riddle seems… safe… ;)

I really intended this to be longer, but then the next scene was too long… it needs its own chapter, haha.