Monster 32: Homecoming

The Hogwarts Express chugged slowly into view, white clouds of steam billowing cheerfully out the engine, as the high-pitched screeching of the brakes rang out across Platform 9 ¾.

Amalia and Tom waited silently, standing apart from the few other knots of students and tearful relatives saying extended goodbyes. The train would be waiting in the station for another hour before it was scheduled to leave (11 o'clock sharp), but in unspoken agreement, they had decided to come to King's Cross early.

Amalia was just as keen as Tom was to get back to the one place she really felt like she could call home – even more than her newly claimed estate on the Isle of Wight. She had enjoyed Christmas, with all its ups and downs, but it had been exhausting.

Mostly because of the person standing to her right.

She snuck a glance at Riddle, her brown eyes thoughtful, travelling over his Hogwarts robes, over which he was wearing the dark green coat she'd bought him. The bruises and wounds he'd had from the orphanage had completely healed by now, and he was looking vampirishly handsome with his fair skin and dark hair in the weak winter sunlight. At his side was a medium-sized trunk – black, of course, with silver trim – recently bought with his newly acquired fortune. They had split up early that morning in Diagon Alley (after travelling via House-Elf Apparition from Brading). Amalia took the opportunity to buy presents for Callidora, Anne, Charlotte and Rosier, and also small gifts for Dumbledore and Slughorn, since she wanted to stay on their good sides. She'd also bought a bottle of aged Firewhiskey for Professor Beery, as a thank-you for directing the play.

Riddle… well, she left him outside Gringotts with an excited gleam in his eye, and what he did after that was anyone's guess. He probably spent the unaccompanied hour or so shopping, exploring the options that excessive wealth could bring.

She wondered if she should be worried.

Sensing her gaze, he turned his head to meet her eyes, one eyebrow lifting in an unimpressed query. "What?" he demanded.

Amalia inclined her head, "Can't a girl admire her companion?" she said with a coquettish smile.

"I care nothing for your admiration." Came his instant, cold reply, and he averted his eyes dismissively.

But she noticed a slight smugness to his expression which told her that he was flattered by the half-teasing comment.

"What did you buy?" she asked next, nodding at the mysterious trunk. She was quite unable to hold back her inquisitiveness.

He definitely had a smug expression now as he folded his arms. "None of your business." He replied smoothly. Her curiosity instantly increased ten-fold.

She sidled closer. "Aw, c'mon, Tom…" The last few days together had achieved a few things, one of which was that he was no longer glaring every time she said his name.

"Please?" she whined, "Just give me a hint?" She decided to test her luck, and tugged lightly on his sleeve, her fingers slipping around his forearm.

He instantly tensed, and scowled at her. "You're such a brat."

She grinned. "No death threats today? How thrilling. I can look and touch."

He shook her off irritably. "Behave." He ordered, and Amalia didn't miss the way his eyes uncomfortably flickered over to the crowds, sweeping them for anyone he knew.

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" she asked him frankly.

"Well, I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea." He drawled.

"Which would be?" she prompted, smirking. "That I'm your girlfriend?"

"That I've been doing anything but tolerating your presence up to this point." He said coldly, and the flinty look in his eyes made her smirk fade slightly.

But she rallied, and faked an exaggerated, hurt look, clutching at her heart. "How can you say that after everything we've been through?" she remonstrated. "And especially after, you know… that morning… Christmas morning."

His jaw tensed, but otherwise, he ignored her.

She grinned wickedly. "Well. I guess it'll just be our little secret, then. No one else has to know."

He stared fixedly at the train, his body angled away from her.

Her cheerfulness dampened slightly, she said a little more seriously, "You know, Tom, I-"

"Thank Merlin." He muttered to himself, as the doors to the train finally swung open. He immediately picked up the handle to his trunk and strode away from her, heading straight for the nearest open compartment.

Amalia closed her mouth, swallowing the words she'd wanted to say. Instead, after a moment's deliberation, she called out, "See you at school!" He gave no indication that he'd heard her at all and disappeared inside.

She knew better than to follow him. He'd been more withdrawn than usual ever since they'd arrived at the station, and now… Is that his plan? She wondered, her eyes narrowing slightly. Returning to Hogwarts, and pretending none of it ever happened?

She was… intrigued. He seemed to be acting deliberately, and that usually meant he was cooking up some kind of dastardly plan. But it somehow felt different to before; there was no way they could go back to being mortal enemies. Rivals, yes… But she couldn't hate him. She wondered if he felt the same, or if he was purposefully trying to distance himself so that they could go back to their old animosity…

She sighed, and shook her head, deciding to put her "Riddle-drama" out of her mind for the moment. Whatever he was planning, she'd probably find out sooner or later.

Glancing at the growing crowd, she broke into a genuine smile as she spotted Callidora and Anne.

It was a great feeling, to have friends to wait for.

On the train, they immediately swapped gifts as they waited to leave the station.

"Wow!" Callidora exclaimed, bouncing up and down on the train seat as she goggled at the expensive book Amalia had bought her. Quidditch for England was proudly emblazoned across the cover, along with some famous quidditch player hovering on his broom and grinning toothily up at her. "This is the special edition?"

Amalia nodded. "Yup. There's apparently a signature from someone important just inside-"

Callidora squealed as she saw it. "Wah! This is Malcolm Fairweather's-! He was so amazing in the 1939 World Cup, managed to get the Quaffle in right over Ludovic Tchyskov's head-"

"You've created a monster." Anne said drily, speaking over Callidora's enthusiastic babbling. "Thanks for this so much," she continued, holding up the enchanted desk organiser Amalia had gotten her. "It's so useful! I can't believe I didn't think of getting one before."

"You're welcome." Amalia said warmly. On her lap was her opened presents: a purple scarf embroidered with decorative swirls from Anne, a box of homemade (or elf-made, she suspected) biscuits from Callidora, and a (rather cheap-looking) self-refilling quill from Charlotte.

She expectantly turned to the petite girl, who had just unwrapped her present.

"It's a… bracelet?" Charlotte said dubiously, gingerly holding up the delicate charm bracelet as if she was afraid it would burst into flames at any moment.

"Oh, that's pretty!" Anne complimented. It was a striking piece of jewellery; silver with green gems arranged like flowers, and from the shine and workmanship it was obviously quite valuable.

"… What does it do?" Charlotte asked cautiously.

Amalia's smile widened innocently, "Why, it doesn't do anything, silly!" she chuckled, "It's purely decorative." She crossed the compartment and sat down next to her. "Here, let me help you put it on." She offered kindly, and took the bracelet out of Charlotte's hesitant hands, to carefully join the clasp around her narrow wrist.

The small clasp made an oddly final sound as it closed, and Charlotte uneasily realised the bracelet was not loose enough to take off without releasing the clasp. Assuming she could.

Amalia, still smiling somewhat creepily, clapped her on the shoulder and then returned to her seat at the window, opposite her. "There." She said sweetly, "Now, no matter where you are or what you're doing… You'll always be reminded of our friendship."

Charlotte fiddled with it uncomfortably. "Um… thank you." She squeaked, subdued. She seemed to have realised that going against Amalia from now on would be... Unwise.

Amalia grinned to herself and looked out the train window, as she felt the engines rumble to life. Soft snowflakes had begun to fall outside, settling on the waving parents and relatives standing on the platform…

Suddenly she froze, eyes widening, as her gaze settled on a man…

… A man she knew, knew in her bones just who he was…

And even through the glass, his eyes were fixed on her, a familiar smirk, reminiscent of her own, playing about his mouth. He had brown eyes, neatly parted hair, a trimmed beard, and was demurely dressed in expensive-looking, slate-grey robes.

Her mouth was dry.

It was him - anger ripped through her so strongly she felt a flash of heat at her fingertips – and he raised a hand, in… farewell? Greeting? … A gesture that meant 'until next time'?

And then he took a step forward, and vanished in a swirl of robes, Disapparating so abruptly she blinked and almost wished she'd imagined the whole thing.

The train lurched into life, pistons speeding up as it took her out of London, and out of danger.

"…Amalia?" came Callidora's uncertain voice, and she realised that her friends had been trying to talk to her for a while.

She swallowed down her turbulent emotions, and turned to them with a forced smile. "Sorry, what did you say? I was distracted." Why did she suddenly have an overwhelming urge to see Tom?

Anne looked compassionate, her eyes softening. "That's okay. It… Was it hard, spending the holidays by yourself?" She obviously assumed Amalia had been watching the families on the platform, and wished for her own. Oh, the irony that it was almost the exact opposite.

Tom wouldn't appreciate me barging into his catch-up session with his little squad, she rationalised internally. And also, how would that look? 'Hey Tom, I know you're trying to ignore me now that we're heading back to Hogwarts, but I just saw my father on the platform, I think he was mocking me, and it's kind-of a big deal...'

She took a steadying breath. No. Just because Tom had helped her out a little over Christmas, didn't mean she would go running to him every time she felt in danger. Hell, he was the one putting her in danger most of the time! They were not friends. She could not rely on him. She could not trust him.

But that was okay. She'd always been alone.

And it was safer that way, even if over Christmas, she'd begun to think that maybe things had changed…

Anne was still talking. "- and you know, if had come over to stay with my family, or Dora's… Well," she blushed slightly, "It would be really fun. I feel like we've been friends forever."

Callidora looked up from her book just long enough to loudly agree and flash a wide smile.

Amalia took a breath, and relaxed, feeling a pleasurable warmth uncurling within – an inexplicable fondness for the other two girls. "I know." She said simply, "And I'm really grateful to be friends with you." She was surprised by how sincere she was, despite how cheesy it felt to say. "It… means a lot." She admitted quietly, "… To have friends."

Anne pulled her into a one-armed hug, and the shock and anger from the unexpected sighting slowly left her. Instead, she felt a new-found determination to protect this feeling, of safety, of belonging. Alric could creepily stalk her and send masked French wizards after her all he wanted – she was not going to be taken away from this.

Callidora put her book aside at last and swung her legs up to rest on Anne's lap (Anne simply tutted indulgently and shifted so they were both more comfortable). "So," she said decisively, "What were you up to in the holidays, hmm?" she narrowed her eyes slightly. "And don't invent some outrageous lie, either – we deserve to know!"

"You can trust us." Anne nodded with a slight smile.

Amalia paused, and then grinned wickedly. "Well... If you must know..."

"Yes?" Callidora said eagerly, sitting a little straighter.

"...I eloped with Riddle and booked us a room in The Leaky Cauldron, where we spent the night finding comfort in each others' arms." she said, straight-faced. "After that, we met a werewolf, a wandmaker and several goblins. We enslaved a troupe of house-elves and killed a man." She stroked her chin thoughtfully, "Oh, then we duelled, and then we kissed, and then we ended up in bed… again." She nodded. "That about sums it up. It was certainly an interesting Christmas."

They all stared at her, wide-eyed for a moment, and then Callidora roared with laughter. Anne shook her head wearily, huffing, "Oh, you shouldn't lie about those sort of things…"

Callidora calmed down, rolling her eyes, "Fine, fine, keep your awesome adventures to yourself if you really want to... but next time choose something we'd actually believe, 'Malia."

Amalia grinned innocently. "I'll remember that for next time." She assured her.

As the conversation turned to other things – namely Callidora moaning about spending ten days among her relatives – Amalia sat back and let her mind wander back to That Morning…

Amalia was a light sleeper.

Whether it was a trait she'd always had, or had developed over time sleeping fitfully in a variety of unsafe locations in Knockturn and other seedy boltholes around London, she wasn't sure. But she had a knack for waking up quickly, and rapidly becoming aware of her surroundings.

So when her eyes fluttered open, she noticed a couple of things simultaneously.

There was a warm body spooning her from behind, an arm wrapped securely around her waist, trapping her against a lean chest.

And he was awake. She could tell by the pace of his steady breathing, warm on the back of her neck.

"Riddle."

He gave a sleepy grunt in response, but made no other movement. So, awake, but not entirely so. That explained a lot.

"… Comfortable?"

After a few seconds, he suddenly started to move, his body tensing as he woke up a little more, and, evidently realising their sleeping arrangement, started to pull away.

She latched onto his arm before he could move, and since he was still slow with sleep, it wasn't hard for her to turn around, so that she was facing him, almost nose-to-nose, holding his arm in place, half-wrapped around her side.

Alertness flooded into his dark eyes, boring into hers with a slightly startled look. She relished the rarity of that expression, the feeling that, for once, she could shock him.

She smirked. "Why don't we stay like this?" she suggested. "Since you seem to like it so much. This is the… hm… third time, isn't it?"

"Let go of me, Gray." He demanded in a low, dangerous voice.

Excitement flared in response to his tone, her natural caution flying out of the window. "You know," she said conversationally, "When you're angry, I swear your eyes change colour." She shifted closer, gazing into the topic of conversation without a trace of fear. It was a little like staring into the eye of a storm, a hurricane, a maelstrom of such power you couldn't help but be pulled in…

Her nose nudged his gently, her breath warm on his tight-lipped mouth. "They're so dark right now, I can barely see your pupils…" she marvelled.

His gaze flickered, his thick eyelashes shuttering slightly as his expression tightened.

And then suddenly she was pinned down on the bed, wrists trapped by his unforgiving grasp as he stared down at her from above.

"Tom-" she started, breathless, her mouth falling open slightly as she dragged in air.

He bent closer, until his lips just hovered over hers, teasing. "It's too bad-" he murmured softly, and then a malicious smirk curled his lips, before he hissed, "That I'm just not interested." And he rolled off her and got out of bed. Moving without haste or urgency, he gathered up the papers and the alchemical dictionary that they'd left on a side-table, and picked up his shoes from beside the bed.

"Don't take forever getting up." he said coldly over his shoulder on his way out, looking completely indifferent to what had just happened. "We're finishing the translation today, end of story."

The door slammed shut on his way out.

After Riddle had so thoroughly turned the tables on her attempt to make him feel flustered and uncomfortable for once, Amalia had been more cautious than usual as she ventured downstairs.

But breakfast passed without more drama, and his mood seemed to improve after a strong coffee. Like the previous night, he fell into an incredibly productive state of mind, and the rest of the day they got through all the translations for the first Moving Stone. They bickered almost constantly, but it was also extremely satisfying to discuss and debate something as complicated as runic theories with an intellectual equal.

Finally, they knew what the clue was; a strong hint that a blood sacrifice was required at the Stone, to be given with a particular ritual knife at the precise stroke of midnight. It was altogether too simple; there was no doubt in either of their minds that the knife would be cursed in some way, or that the blood sacrifice would cause something bad to happen.

Over a sumptuous Christmas dinner cooked by the elves, they brainstormed possible ways of preparing for the unexpected.

That night they slept apart.

The next day Amalia insisted on getting out of the house, and somehow convinced Riddle to join her in re-decorating the exterior, tearing down the gargoyles and trying out different colour palettes on the walls and window-frames. It was all very domestic. Riddle got more interested when they found out that to make such big aesthetic changes, they had to find ways around the enchantments protecting the building, without completely disabling them. Which meant another sojourn to the library, to look up high-level wards, charms and curses.

After a late lunch of Christmas leftovers, Riddle seemed to really get into the whole re-decoration plan, and argued strongly against beige, on the grounds that it was so mundane it reminded him of muggles.

In the end they settled on white walls and light grey window-frames and shutters, which looked much more cheerful and welcoming.

The next day they were back on the train, and Christmas was over.

They were heading back home, separated and with no reason to collaborate anymore for the first time in over a week. Amalia found herself quietly hoping that, despite his sudden, apparent indifference... things between them had changed.

Because deep down, in her innermost, most secret of thoughts… she already missed him.

Author's note:

In canon the Christmas holidays are two weeks long, but I realised with my time-line that all the events up to Christmas Eve had only taken about 6 days. Christmas brings it to 7, Boxing Day to 8, and then one extra day for house decorating, and on the 10th day they get on the train for Hogwarts. I thought I'd clarify that, just in case it seemed longer, WHICH IT DID FOR ME. Seriously, the Christmas arc was about halfway written since 2015, and then it took on a life of its own…

But yeah, back at Hogwarts in the next one.