Author's note:

This chapter is Amalia's back story... and it gets pretty dark. Look up the song. When this story first came into my head, I was compulsively playing all of Hozier's music (that came out before 2015, anyway) on repeat. So this is Amalia's song - my original inspiration, if you will. It's part of the reason she became a character obsessed with fire.

Chapter 29: The Fire

"Arsonist's Lullaby", by Hozier

When I was a child, I heard voices...

Some would sing and some would scream

You soon find you have few choices...

I learned the voices died with me.

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours

Staring into open flames

Something in it had a power,

I could barely tear my eyes away.

All you have is your fire...

And the place you need to reach -

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash.

Amalia's breath misted in the cold night air as she strode quickly down the path, over the bridge and through the woods. As she walked, her eyes darted from side to side, but she was alone. The snow crunched under her boots, the only sound to break the tense silence, apart from a lonely breeze.

In her pocket, she clutched her wand tightly with gloved fingers, ready at a moment's notice to defend herself. It was late, and she was exhausted… and although she wanted answers… A not insignificant part of her was honestly wishing that nothing was going to happen. Perhaps the Ministry hadn't tracked their use of the Floo Network. Perhaps after being caught out at the bank, James Blishwicke had given up. Perhaps she would walk to the ruined house and the magical grate without incident, and then she could return to the house, shrug and tell Riddle Oh, next time we'll get 'em… and then she could ask Pippy to fetch her some hot chocolate.

But although the path seemed deserted, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was in imminent danger. And her instincts rarely failed her. She took a deep breath, choosing to ignore the wrongness of walking blindly into danger (with her only advantage was Riddle, following discreetly to serve as her back-up… and she wasn't a hundred percent sure she could rely on him). She didn't pause at the treeline of the woods, but bravely stepped out of the trees and onto the narrow, open path, snow-covered fields on either side. Down the hill Brading was visible, less lights shining in the windows than there had been earlier. It was just past midnight, and any sensible person would be in bed by now.

Instead, she was out in the cold, possibly being stalked by a man who had tried to kill her once in the past already, and definitely being followed by a boy who'd threatened to kill her in the past, although now… well, his motives were murky at the best of times.

As Amalia drew nearer the ruined house, she slowed, her senses warning her that something was… off. Different.

She looked around carefully for anything out of place, her eyes narrowing.

The snow! It was too pristine – they'd walked out of the ruin only a few hours ago, and the snowfall wasn't heavy enough to completely erase the tracks they left. Which meant… an illusion?

She drew her wand in one fluid movement, raising it slightly at her side as she turned, trying to watch her back. With the fields open and empty all around her, she knew Riddle wasn't in her immediate vicinity. He was probably hanging back, watching from a distance, so they could spring their ambush… but that also meant he wasn't close enough to intervene immediately. She had to draw Blishwicke – or whoever was following – out into the open… and keep them talking long enough for Riddle spring the trap.

"I know you're here." She called out boldly, turning her head this way and that. "Well, here I am. Stop hiding and face me!" The fields glittered coldly with ice, and a slight wind lifted the ends of her hair. But no one responded.

She gritted her teeth.

Instinct was telling her to cast a mid-level shield, or any of the dozen charms she knew for revealing hidden magic and danger. But casting any kind of spell would activate the Trace – particularly since they were close to a muggle town. In Diagon Alley, or other, known magical dwellings, she knew the Ministry routinely turned a blind eye to under-age magic which caused the Trace to trigger – as it happened so commonly - but out here, the use of any magic would raise a red flag.

She'd spent a few years evading and outwitting the Ministry, and she'd had a couple of close calls as a result of casting magic in muggle areas before she figured the system out.

Ministry enforcers were incompetent. Inefficient. Slow. But she knew that those factors would still only give her about 15 minutes leeway after she'd casted the spell to vacate the area. Since she didn't know the extent of the Ministry's official involvement (was Blishwicke working alone, or did he have official sanction?) she had to assume that capture could very well mean death… or worse. She was resolved to use magic only as a last resort.

When no one replied to her challenge, she steeled herself, and took a cautious step forward, towards the ruined house. Then another.

On her third step, she felt a faint pressure pushing on her face, suddenly disappearing like the bursting of a bubble, followed by an abrupt, rather unpleasant feeling like getting punched in the gut. Air rushed out of her lungs in a whoosh, and she gasped soundlessly, doubling over and almost losing her footing.

As she gasped for air, she stared at the ground in front of her, suddenly noticing large boot prints revealed by the breaking of the concealment charm, criss-crossing everywhere over the snow, as though someone had been pacing up and down for a long time.

And then there was someone approaching, at a leisurely pace, with a heavy, adult, tread. She looked up slowly, raising her wand with fingers that only trembled slightly. Rage suddenly filled her.

"Amalia Gray." James Blishwicke said in an utterly dry voice. "We meet again."

She dragged air into her starved lungs, but wasn't fast enough.

One eyebrow quirked and he said, almost lazily, "Expelliarmus."

She stumbled back in shock as he effortlessly caught her wand and sighed with seeming weariness. "Now, let's not draw this out." He said flatly, "I've been looking for you for some time, now. Where's your friend? Has he abandoned you? That makes things easier."

Without her wand, Amalia felt horribly exposed. For all his nonchalance (and the fact that he looked like an accountant – his robes were plain and brown and his hair was neatly parted and trimmed) he was obviously an extremely skilled wizard. She remembered two years previous, during her first encounter, when he'd walked into her apartment as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and proceeded to attack her with the Juguolo curse – as if she was a pig brought to slaughter – in precisely that same indifferent, bored tone. And she'd only escaped through sheer, dumb luck. Now, however…

Would Riddle be able to stop him? Her skin crawled as she had an unpleasant suspicion that they might actually be out of their depth here.

"You work for the Department of Mysteries." She abruptly said, holding her ground with difficulty as he sized her up with clever brown eyes.

He nodded. "That's right. Well done on breaking into my office, by the way." His expression didn't change at all.

Her eyes flickered – how had he known that? She'd been very careful not to leave traces. But perhaps he'd had some kind of charm to detect intruders… She pushed on, desperate to keep him talking, to stall him, to find answers… "Why are you after me?" she demanded.

He cocked his head slightly at her, looking vaguely surprised. "I think that's rather obvious by now. It's been years." He blinked at her growing anger, "No?"

Her fists balled. "I've done nothing to deserve this." She spat.

For the first time, a sardonic smile appeared on the man's face, as if she'd said something very amusing. Or very naïve. "Really? I disagree. The Ministry disagrees…" He shrugged idly, "Or they will, once I have all the paperwork sorted out."

"What do you mean?" Where the hell is Riddle? Amalia thought with a hint of desperation. Blishwicke was indulging her for now, but she had no idea how long that would last.

"Well, the Ministry is not officially after you," he said, with an affected sigh, "Hence the lack of, hm… back-up." he waved vaguely at the empty fields around them. "But that will change soon. Let's see…"

She looked around quickly, but the fields were silent and empty around her. Had Riddle… abandoned her?

Blishwicke hummed thoughtfully, "According to my investigations, you're wanted for… the illegal possession of a Time Turner – that's already on your permanent record - suspected possession of Class Four prohibited publications-" he nodded as her eyes widened, "Yes, we know about those! – Also, bribery, smuggling, fraternising with an unregistered werewolf, performing underage magic, performing underage magic on muggles, unlicensed Apparition… Contravening the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy on multiple occasions… Thievery, breaking and entering Ministry property…" he paused, relishing the blank shock which had come over her face. "Oh, and of course," he added with relish, "There's that little incident that happened just over two years ago. You know…. The fire."

The blood drained from her face. "You know nothing-"

"No." he interrupted sharply, "I think we've just covered the fact that I know everything. And you're wanted in connection with those murders… and for burning down that building."

She felt ill. And angry. He had no right to bring up that day.

"So, what?" she snarled, "You're here to bring me in to face those charges? You have nothing that proves-"

He smiled condescendingly, and spoke over her. "No, little girl. I'm not here to arrest you. I think it's better for everyone involved if you simply… went away."

Amalia broke off, staring at him. She found her voice with difficulty. "Then, why-"

"I was just informing you what will be on the report I write up about your death," he said matter-of-factly, "Which was unfortunately unavoidable when you violently resisted arrest."

"Y-you monster!" she snarled, itching to sink her fist right in his smug face, "You fucking piece of-"

He tutted disapprovingly. "Language, my dear. And I think we both know who the real monster here is." He raised a hand to forestall further cursing. "Now, as lovely as this chat has been, I need to get back to the office. We can make this part unpleasant… or quick. I'm going to ask you a question, and while I don't need your answer, it would certainly make my job easier. So, here it is-"

His eyes bored into hers, pinning her to the spot. She saw no expression in those eyes – nothing at all, no emotion, no… Humanity. This kind of thing didn't thrill him, or upset him… It was just his job. She would have preferred an evil cackle of laughter than this… indifference.

"Where is Alric Gray?" he asked composedly.

"My father?" her surprise ripped through her dread. If he – and, by extension, the Ministry – was searching for Alric, that must mean they weren't working together anymore. Had he gone rogue? What-

"I see." He cocked a head at her, watching her expression change from shock to confusion, "You don't know." He surmised. "Well, it was worth a try." He seemed mildly disappointed. He raised his wand, and Amalia tensed, adrenaline flooding her system. Where's Riddle?!

"Wait!" she said quickly. "I don't know where he is… but-"

"Well?" the man prompted impatiently.

"The old house is near here, in this forest!" she said desperately, "If you come back with me, perhaps you can find some kind of clue-"

He considered, sucking on his lip. "That sounds like a decent lead," he acknowledged at last, "But I don't need you alive for that."

"... There's protective enchantments that-!"

"Enough."

He raised his wand again, and even while his expression didn't change, she could feel the murderous intent building in the air like the anticipation of a thunderstorm. "Unlike you," he said dismissively, "I have no desire to walk into a trap."

Amalia desperately backed up a step, preparing to dive out of the way if necessary, knowing that she wouldn't make it in time.

He slashed his wand in the air. "Ju-"

"Juguolo!"

Amalia watched, frozen, as Blishwicke was interrupted by a smooth voice, confidently ringing out across the snowy fields from behind him.

He made an awkward, stumbling movement forward, his eyes losing their indifferent, bored expression and growing impossibly wide. Unfortunately for him, he was far too late to save himself.

Blood splattered onto the snow, and he coughed, choking, and slowly sank to his knees.

Amalia's initial shock wore off, and she let out a shuddering breath, watching with savage satisfaction as the life rapidly left his eyes. She only regretted that she hadn't been the one to do it.

Blishwicke soundlessly toppled forward to sprawl face-down on the snow, revealing the mortal wound: a crude cut carved diagonally across his back, deep enough to sever bone. He twitched once, then was still.

They both stared at the corpse for a few moments as the blood soaked into the snow.

Amalia looked up, scowling. "Don't you think you cut it a little close?!" Pun not intended, she thought dryly. She was still feeling twitchy from the adrenaline. For a moment there, she'd really thought Riddle was going to let her die…

He dragged his smug gaze from the corpse, "You're welcome." He threw back sarcastically.

She struggled with herself for a moment. "Yes. I suppose I- That is to say… Hm." She sighed. He had saved her life, even if he was now probably going to be a dick about it forever. "… Thanks."

He predictably ignored her flustered dithering, and looked around quickly. "We should leave." He strode forward and bent down to pick something up from beside the body.

With a slight twinge of discomfort, Amalia realised it was her wand.

She reached out to take it from him, but he seemed not to notice, scanning the fields with a serious look in his intelligent dark eyes.

"Riddle." She said impatiently, still holding her hand out.

He walked right past her at a rapid pace, back along the path towards the wood. "C'mon." he said over his shoulder, "We need to get out of the area before the Ministry come and investigate…"

Amalia strode quickly after him, starting to feel a little anxious.

"Riddle," she said again, trying to catch up. He increased his pace, his longer legs covering more ground than she could without breaking into a jog. "Will you just-"

"No point hiding the body." He said absently, not even looking at her. "We don't have time to do it well, and the Ministry would just use forensic spells to find out what happened anyway-"

"Riddle," she repeated, with more force this time.

He stopped abruptly and turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in question. She didn't like the way his eyes were suddenly glittering with malicious intent. "What?" he said innocently.

"You still have my wand," she reminded him slowly, "Give it back."

Her heart dropped as he merely smiled, and then turned on his heel and continued walking at the same fast pace.

"Tom-" she began, but he interrupted her, without turning.

"Relax, I'll return it momentarily." He said with deadly friendliness, "I just think we should get out of sight first."

It was really starting to bother her that he wasn't looking at her.

"I can take care of enemies just as well as you can," she argued, and trotted to keep up.

"I'm sure." He scoffed, "It's not like you just got disarmed in about three seconds, or anything."

Her temper flared, "The plan was for me to be ambushed!" she snapped defensively. Of course it stung that she'd been so helpless, had to rely on someone else to save her. Playing the damsel in distress did not suit her. "You know that."

He ignored her again. They reached the treeline, but he didn't slow. "Now," he said smoothly, striding briskly on, "I find what that man had to say… very interesting. You got upset when he mentioned-"

She slowed down immediately. "Leave it," she warned him, "It's in the past. I've told you everything."

"No." he snapped, and this time she heard anger in his voice. "I don't think you have. Didn't you say you would be honest with me? You're hiding something," he accused icily, glancing over his shoulder. He paused briefly when he saw she wasn't following. "And I want to know what it is, Gray. I want to know about the fire."

She remained silent, her expression closing off. Her instincts were telling her that she was in danger, but she fought desperately against them. This was Riddle, and they had made great strides in their relationship in the last week. He wouldn't…

He turned and kept walking. The forest was silent and still around them, aside from the eerie creak of leafless branches scraping against each other in the wind. She swallowed hard, but she could hardly stand around in the snow forever. She reluctantly followed, her adrenaline spiking for the second time in an hour.

His pace slowed, and he finally turned to face her properly. She suddenly became aware that they had stopped on the stone bridge, close enough to the house to benefit from the wide net of protective enchantments. Close enough for anything that happened to have no witnesses.

"You did something, Gray." Riddle continued. His voice was suddenly soft… almost pleasant. She had a sudden urge to sprint in the opposite direction. "I'm just curious, what happened, and why you haven't told me-"

"There's nothing to tell!" she snapped harshly, her voice loud in the silence. She shivered, pulling her coat tighter and wishing she had her wand back. I let my guard down, she thought in numb horror, staring at the small smile playing around Riddle's attractive mouth. He had all the power now, and he knew it.

She swallowed thickly. "Riddle, I… Tom-" she started, in an attempt to reason with him – though, she had no idea what to say - but he didn't let her finish.

He idly fingered her wand, and his eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical curiosity, "Why do you insist on lying to me?" he hissed. "I want to know, Gray, what you've done-"

"…Riddle," she said, taking a small step back. "Don't you dare… I mean it- I will never forgive you-"

He cocked his head at her very slightly and licked his cold lips, his eyes fixated on hers, like a snake eyeing its prey.

And she knew she'd been a fool to trust him.

"Legilimens!"

The last thing Tom saw was Amalia's expression, wide-eyed and betrayed, her mouth opening in a soft gasp as he leapt into her mind. Despite the cold, her lips were full and red, a vibrant stain of colour in the silver light of the moon, which swirled and changed as his vision wavered.

Then his surroundings reset, as he flicked through memories like a deck of cards, searching for the one he desired. He felt her fighting him, but she was wandless and he'd been practicing on Avery for weeks. His Legilimency skills had improved enough to let him break into her mind with relative ease, despite her strong will.

Her anger tore at him like shards of glass, but he was so intent on sating his curiosity, it was easy to ignore.

The world reformed around him, hazy and indistinct as memories were… but as he looked around with interest, gradually more detail emerged...

There had been a fire.

That much was obvious; the small room he stood in smelled of ash, and around the closed door was a ring of black soot-marks, as though a fire had raged just beyond, sending hungry tendrils of flame licking up the wood.

He heard the sound of movement, the rustling of material, and turned to see a small figure moving weakly, pulling back bedsheets as she looked around with a confused expression on her thin face.

Objectively, Tom knew this was Amalia; it was her memory, and there was some resemblance… But in any other situation, he could have easily mistaken her from just another waif at his orphanage. She was younger, obviously – she looked like she hadn't hit puberty yet, at about twelve years old… she was a lot smaller. Her face was thin, her arms almost emaciated. Her skin had an unhealthy pallor to it, the pallor of someone who was chronically ill. Her hair was long, almost to her elbows, and looked limp and unwashed.

But the biggest change was the expression in her eyes. They were… hollow. She seemed absent, somehow. Her eyes wandered aimlessly about the room with little to no comprehension.

Tom wondered if she wasn't on some kind of strong potion or drug. But that was odd, because the memory was clear and stable – the product of a completely lucid mind. Something else was going on here, and he started to feel a strange sensation, almost like discomfort, as he watched her blink dumbly at the walls. They were bare of decoration, just roughly painted, with a single, unforgiving light bulb hanging from the high ceiling. There was a bed and a toilet, but nothing else, not even a sink or mirror.

He took a step closer. Then his eyes widened as he realized the walls weren't painted "roughly" at all; the texture was caused by hundreds of scraped marks, uniform and regularly arranged in lines, arrayed across the entire wall, floor to ceiling. On one side was roughly scrawled in a child's shaky hand "days", and next to it, in slanted capital letters "DON'T FORGET".

He blinked in shock as the truth dawned on him…

She'd been in this room for years.

He turned his attention back to her. She was clothed in a thin hospital gown, light blue cotton, and seemed relatively unharmed... except for her hands. There were angry red burns on her palms and fingers, as if she'd pressed them against a hot plate. There were also faint purplish marks on the inside of her elbow, where it seemed she'd been injected with something, definitely more than once.

As if memory-Amalia could sense him there, she suddenly looked up – seemed to look right at him. He had a thrill of suspense as she frowned, before realising she was looking through him – through the place he occupied, towards the door.

A moment later, he found out why. She had heard the voices of two men outside her small room, arguing about something. She lurched unsteadily to her feet, and for the first time her eyes reflected some emotion: uncertainty.

Fear.

Riddle watched as she padded over to the door, pressing her ear to the wood, straining to hear the voices outside.

Since it was her memory, he heard the two men talking in the hallway outside as clearly as she could.

"... after what happened. Of course he wants us to-" she couldn't quite make out all he was saying, "... have to abandon... done until now! I don't see why w-... without warning-... to terminate... –m all?"

The girl blanched and bit her lip until the skin split as she heard their footsteps approaching the room, echoing on the linoleum floor.

The other man's voice broke in, louder and sounding somewhat annoyed. "Just do your job, alright? We're being compensated generously for this mess."

"What about you?" demanded the first man. He sounded resentful.

"I'm heading back to the lab." replied the other man primly. "Stop wasting time and wrap things up here."

"I know, I know." huffed the other man.

"Don't think you can return without her." the man warned.

"Tch. It's because of that brat that this has all gone to shit in the first place."

"The Professor won't like you talking like that."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Just get going, will you?"

With some minor grumbling one of the men's footsteps faded away, until the girl heard a door open and close. But then she was distracted by a key jangling in the lock of her door, and the quiet cursing of the man as he struggled to get the door open.

She backed away.

Finally the door opened, and the man froze in the doorway, shocked eyes flying up to meet hers.

Riddle watched in interest as he licked his lips somewhat nervously. "You're... not supposed to be awake."

Suddenly the girl stiffened, and her eyes narrowed, losing some of their uncertainty. Becoming more... Amalia-ish. "You're afraid of me." she said quietly. Her voice was younger, but roughened by either disuse, or perhaps sickness.

He stared back at her, and then a twisted smirk quirked his lips. "Yeah… That's to be expected."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

He shook his head slightly, as if disbelieving. "Huh, must be nice…"

"Why don't I remember?" it was a demand, not a question.

He stared at her for a long moment, as if internally debating something, and then stepped backwards, out into the hall, and jerked his head to the right. "Why don't you see for yourself?" he asked, watching her with a strange intensity.

Riddle's thoughts darkened as he observed the man. Had he been the one to give her the injections? He was wearing a white coat over wizard's robes, and held his wand loosely in one hand. Around his neck hung a white surgical mask, not in use at the moment.

Cautiously, Amalia walked forward, past Riddle, standing like a wraith observing the scene. She exited her prison and Riddle followed closely.

"Keep walking." the man urged her, nodding down the empty hallway. Black soot-streaks stained the tiled walls, as if a flash-fire had broken out, and just as quickly been extinguished. "There. That door on the right."

Amalia's face was completely blank as she approached the door. Riddle could tell she didn't remember anything about this place, as she looked around with intelligent, wide eyes.

"Open it." he ordered next.

The glass on the top half of the door was melted and blackened, making it impossible to see through to the interior. She didn't hesitate for long, but obediently pulled open the door with barely a wince, even though her burnt hands must have been in a lot of pain. Riddle followed her as she walked slowly into a long room, divided into cells made from transparent glass walls. The fire had burnt in here the hottest of all, the beams of the ceiling exposed and charred, but the glass cells were unmarked. It seemed like there was some kind of charm protecting them from harm.

And inside each glass cell...

Was a dead child.

Riddle coolly observed the bodies, noting with clinical detachment that each corpse was unmarked… unspoiled. Their expressions were glassy-eyed and frozen in death. They had been killed with magic, and from the heavy feeling in the air, it had been a powerful, dark curse. He could hazard a guess which one, too. There weren't many killing spells that accomplished the task so efficiently.

Amalia's reaction to the scene was quite different to his. Instantly, she'd gasped and stumbled back, pressing her hand over her mouth as if to hold back a wave of nausea. She looked horrified.

They were all around Amalia's age, some a few years younger. All in all, there seemed to be about ten glass cells, each with a dead occupant clothed in blue cotton like she was, lying there like broken ragdolls.

"It wasn't easy, you know," sighed the man lingering behind her, sounding irritated. "Terminating the subjects was not my decision. I mean, I understand why it was necessary, but it just seems like such a waste, you know?"

Amalia turned to stare at him, her nails biting into her burnt palms. She didn't seem to notice, but blood was dripping from one of her hands, onto the soot-blackened floor.

"It was your fault." he suddenly threw at her, eyes narrowing. "You ruined everything."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Two days ago," he explained with relish, eyes watching her expression almost hungrily, "We were conducting the usual trials, and you went off even crazier than you usually do." he waved a hand at their burnt surroundings, "The fire destroyed the whole west wing. You killed three of my colleagues. You don't remember any of that?"

She absorbed this information, and Riddle saw her bloodstained fingers flex slowly, as if recalling the lingering kiss of heat-

"Of course," he continued without waiting for a reply, "That attracted unwanted attention. The Muggles… Tch, there's only so much the Department can cover up. Which is why we got the order to shut down." his eyes flashed in anger, "Years of research, years of my life," he hissed, "All gone, tossed aside... Useless!"

"You killed them?" she said, in a strangely quiet voice. A flash of heat sparked at her fingertips. "To hide what you were doing to us?"

At that, he gave a twisted smile, evidently enjoying her reaction. "Oh no, you've got it all wrong."

She stared at him, and then suddenly blanched, her hands coming up to clutch at her head as if she was in extreme pain. And Riddle could tell she was experiencing a flash-back, her fragile mind put under enormous strain as it bore the brunt of some fragmented memory. From the way her face twisted, it was incredibly painful. And suddenly he could hear a ghostly voice, growing louder and then softer, as if from a bad radio signal -

- everything's going to be FINE, my dear, said a smooth, male voice, You're my special girl, let's see what you can do, okay?- Remember the incantation, just like we practiced: Avada-

And Amalia was on her knees, eyes blank as she panted raggedly, her fingernails digging into the soot-streaked floor. The flash-back faded, leaving yet more questions in its wake. Riddle stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.

The other man approached, standing over her, seeming to relish her pain. "You had to kill them, you see? We thought it was only right, for you to clean up your own mess. Since you were responsible."

"I d-didn't…" she gasped, "You're l-lying…"

"You can't remember?" he smiled. "How nice for you."

"I remember." She whispered, eyes hollow, tortured. "S-screams. But… Me? Or..."

"Amalia Gray," he said mockingly, "Our talented little monster. The Professor has such high hopes for you. Which reminds me, we need to get going. Don't worry, I'll knock you out again, and we can-"

Reality started to blur as Amalia lost control of her emotions, effecting the memory. And suddenly Riddle felt what she was feeling, her anger and pain flooding into him, overwhelming his focus-

Heat, searing heat, racing through her bloodstream, a roaring in her ears. She was losing control. He was smirking, she hated that, that patronising smirk, wanted him to stop stop STOP-

In two steps, she was right in front of the smirking man, with one hand suddenly pressed to his face.

He wasn't smirking anymore. His eyes were shocked, wide and horrified between her fingers.

She let the rage fill her, a howling gale of hurt and confusion sweeping through her, flowing through her body and into her arm, turning into a physical heat.

The tempest inside her burst forth.

His dying screams would haunt her nightmares for months.

Riddle stumbled, blinking as stars burst across his vision, dizzy from the strength of the memory. Towards the end, her emotions had overwhelmed his focus, driving him forcibly out of her mind.

He shook his head slightly, gripping the icy wall of the stone bridge as his vision cleared.

Amalia was standing about two metres away.

She looked as pale as a ghost, and she was staring at him. But it wasn't a lost stare, or a confused stare. It was a stare of such profound malice and all-consuming ferocity, that Tom quite literally lost the ability to speak. His mouth opened slightly, but he couldn't do anything but focus of his suddenly shallow breathing. Her intense hatred bore down on him like a physical weight.

Instinctively, he raised her wand, defensively, stumbling back to put distance between them, but he was still recovering from the intense onslaught of her memories, and his reaction was slow.

In a trice she'd dashed forward and snatched the wand right out of his hand.

An unnatural wind was stirring the dead leaves and swirling snow, whipping her hair back, but she didn't seem to notice.

He found himself catching his breath at the sight; this girl with the blood-red lips, standing on the grey stone bridge in a tempest of fury, in a skeletal forest, the bare branches scraping at the dark sky.

She was beautiful.

In a second she had taken a step forward, and her empty, left hand was pressed hard over his mouth and nose, her nails biting into his cheeks.

The colour drained from his face as he stared in shock into her merciless eyes, as her blood-red lips curved up into an absolutely humourless smile.

"I can burn you, too, Tom." She murmured, and he shivered at the velvet tone of her voice, deep and dark, and so far from her usual, light, playful tone. "I have the fire."

Tom's heart thundered in his chest – he truly didn't know what she was going to do. Before today, he would have bet that she didn't have it in her… But now he knew. He'd seen it for himself.

She would do it.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and grew thoughtful. Slowly, she let go, and withdrew her hand, trailing her fingers gently along the side of his face as she did, almost like a lover's caress. Her brown eyes were captivating.

He exhaled, "Amalia-" he managed to start, sounding slightly hoarse.

The little warmth that had softened her eyes was suddenly extinguished.

And then she raised her wand and used the very tip to delicately pull back the collar of his coat and shirt, exposing his chest, pausing directly over his heart.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And the jet of green light hit him squarely in the chest, lighting up his face, frozen in an expression of absolute shock.

The end.

Author's note:

JUST KIDDING! It's never the end ;) Don't yell at me! As if I'd really kill off our EVILSEXY studmuffin!

So what happened? It's actually pretty logical. Try and guess in the comments :D

Don't you just love cliffhangers? Mahahaha...