Author's note:
So, I got quite a lot of (perhaps justified) outrage over the cliffhanger I left you with last chapter. For those of you who are interested, or perhaps you're writers yourselves and often wonder how to end chapters, here's my thoughts:
Firstly, that was quite a bad cliffhanger and I apologise for any anxiety caused (although it's also flattering that you guys are emotionally invested enough in my story to freak out so much).
Despite the above apology, I will probably be leaving you guys with cliffhangers from time to time anyway - and there are several reasons for it:
Unfortunately my writing style is to have quite a lot of action happening between each "conclusion"/ break in tension, so often it's difficult to round off everything that's happening into a neatly packaged chapter end. Each chapter I post is usually between 3000 - 5000 words, but on average it takes two or sometimes three chapters to "conclude" things. Of course it's possible to write an artificial break in tension, for example, the last time I posted I could have ended the chapter with Amalia going to sleep the night before going out to the Forest, but writing that scene would have no benefit to the plot. In fact, it would break the tension prematurely, which makes the "big reveal" of what Tom had planned in the Forest less meaningful. The other option would be to merge chapter 35 and 36 into one longer chapter - which was actually my intention, but I just didn't have time to write everything. I posted what I did when I did so that you didn't have to wait a month between updates.
Lastly, although it may seem incredibly cruel to end on cliffhangers, keep in mind that it only affects you for the brief time you're waiting for the next update. When you read a book, or a completed fanfic from chapter 1 to 50 for example, you barely notice cliffhangers, and actually they do serve a purpose in maintaining momentum. Rest assured, I'm certainly not leaving ridiculous cliffhangers in order to generate attention/reviews - I think I get enough of that on my writing skill alone ;) My goal in writing Monster is to mimic a good book - which of course is not episodic in nature. You would not usually be forced to wait two weeks before reading the next chapter of a book. Once Monster is complete, I don't think it will be a bad thing to have a moment of "oh shit what's going to happen next" before you select the next chapter button.
I thought it was important to mention all of this because some of you might also be aspiring writers, and might find this perspective interesting. Of course if you disagree or want to discuss any of what I just said, PM me. It's been a learning curve for me as well since this has made me question whether I should change my writing style or not - but I took some time to think about it and decided not to change, for the reasons I listed above.
But now, onto the chapter!
Chapter 36: An Elaborate Prank
"Well," Tom said blandly into the yawning silence that followed her exclamation, "You're being awfully loud for such a pleasant evening."
He was sitting comfortably in a conjured plush chair, his long legs elegantly crossed in front of a cheerfully crackling fire, over which he was lazily turning some sort of roasting poultry on a spit. It looked like wild grouse. Behind him was a pitched tent (in Slytherin colours of course) with tasteful silver-edged pennants fluttering in the light breeze. There was another comfortable chair arranged next to him – it was empty.
"What in Merlin's name is this?" Amalia spluttered, gesticulating wildly at the scene as a whole. "I – But you – Explain!" she demanded, in a voice that was much more higher-pitched than it usually was.
"What does it look like?" He deadpanned, quirking one eyebrow at her before shifting his gaze back to the fire.
"You were never planning this duel at all?!"
He looked at her as if he was questioning her intelligence, and then his lip curled into a smirk. "…Obviously."
Amalia huffed, caught between extreme anger and even more extreme relief. In the end she couldn't settle for an appropriate reaction, and merely collapsed weakly into the chair beside him.
She stared into the fire for a few moments, just letting it sink in – she didn't have to fight him to the death anymore – before she burst out, "But WHY? Why in Merlin's name would you do that to me?!"
"I thought your reaction would be amusing." He carefully rotated the bird so that the other side would get equally golden brown, and then shot her a sideways smirk, "You didn't disappoint."
Her heart rate was still unsteady. "So… we're really not duelling?" she confirmed, a tad uncertainly, "This is not just some… elaborate trap to put me off my guard?"
His dark eyes flickered up to meet hers, and he had his usual inscrutable mask back up… yet, this time… she wasn't sensing any hostility. Could it be that he truly had no ulterior motives...?
"After some deliberation over the Christmas holidays," he explained slowly, "I came to the conclusion that killing you as I had planned would be…" he frowned slightly as he searched for the right word, "…Counter-productive."
Amalia stared at him. Somehow, she was getting the feeling that this – collaboration – was new territory for him, and something he had yet to come to terms with.
"Well, we need to solve the mystery of the Moving Stones." He clarified, nodding at a gap through the trees on the other side of the clearing.
Amalia glanced over, and through the trees she could see the Stones, arranged in a tall, loose ring in the moonlight. They were covered in moss, as if they'd stood there for years, but she knew by the next full moon, they would have moved to a new location. She turned her gaze back to Tom, who was now carefully basting the bird as it roasted – a delicious smell pervaded the small clearing. It stood to reason he was a good cook - he was very good at Potions.
"What?" he demanded impatiently, sensing her continued stare.
Amalia struggled with herself for a long moment, feeling a strange emotion welling up inside her, expanding until she couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Tom," she informed him quite seriously, "I'm going to hug you now."
"Wait, wha-?"
His eyes flew up to her and she just had time to see them widen almost comically in shock, before she'd thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.
He flailed for a moment – clearly unused to this kind of treatment – but she just held him in place, breathing in his familiar scent.
This crazy bastard. I think I love him. She started giggling helplessly.
He tugged at the back of her coat, but his attempts to pry her off didn't succeed – she was stuck to him like a barnacle. He stopped struggling and went completely still. "Amalia," he said darkly, regaining his composure quickly, "I'm going to curse you if you don't get off me in the next three seconds."
She drew back, her hands lightly resting on his shoulders, and her lips quirked up into a mischievous smile. She reached up and brushed a strand of his dark hair back into place (having been dislodged by her enthusiastic embrace). She gazed without fear into his angry obsidian eyes, her face just inches from his. He narrowed his eyes at her, and opened his mouth – no doubt to tell her to get off again – but she quickly placed a finger to his lips.
"Tom," she breathed huskily. His eyes darkened a fraction, and… did he just lean forward, very slightly? She tilted her head closer and put her lips close to his ear, feeling his fingers tighten slightly in the material of her coat…
"… I can smell something burning." She whispered sensuously.
With a murmured oath, he shoved her away, quickly removing the bird (which had begun to smoulder) from the spit over the fire.
Amalia collapsed back into her chair, roaring with laughter.
He shot her a bloodthirsty glare. "Maybe it's not such a bad idea to kill you, after all." He said darkly.
She wiped tears from her eyes. "You know you deserved that."
Silence fell as she watched him inspect the meat, scowling all the while.
"It's not really burnt, is it?" she said presently, "I am quite hungry… I couldn't face eating dinner earlier-"
The annoyed scowl on his face was replaced by an arrogant smirk. "Were you that afraid of duelling me?" he sneered, shooting a smug look at her.
She rolled her eyes. "No." she denied. "But, thanks to you, I have spent the past few days imagining all the ways I could kill you, which wasn't that pleasant..."
He snorted. "Really."
"Disembowelment was at the top of the list." She told him matter-of-factly, as he summoned two plates from inside the tent and began to carve the bird. "Since there are plenty of ordinary spells that can be used to - I don't know, scoop out organs, liquefy your insides, turn you inside out... or simply take a chunk out of your spine, or even rip out your-"
"I get the picture." Riddle cut her off drily, and then paused, thoughtful. "You weren't going to use killing curses?"
She shrugged. "After the last time, I wouldn't risk my spell failing again." She met his eyes steadily. "Even if… as I've been telling you since before Christmas, I don't want to kill you, Tom. I would if I had to, but..."
He nodded. "I have also come to the conclusion that it would be illogical to continue our animosity, in the light of what we could accomplish-"
"It's good that you've realised that," she interrupted him, "But for me..." she smiled coyly, "I can't imagine why, but I just… enjoy your company, Tom."
His gaze flickered.
"Sentiment." He sneered after a moment.
"Frigid bastard." she threw back with a grin.
A companionable silence fell between them, but Amalia was not quite finished.
She raised her eyebrows at him. "So, you… don't enjoy my company, then?" her voice was idle, but there was a subtly challenging note to it, daring him to lie.
He instantly rolled his eyes. "You're insufferable." he said flatly.
She grinned like a Cheshire cat. "I knew it. You do like me."
"Did you not hear what I just said?" he demanded, nettled.
She chuckled, knowing that if he truly disliked her company, he would have stated it directly - Yes, I hate you, Gray. Every second in your company makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a fork - or something along those lines. Instead, she merely got "insufferable".
"Aw, Tom, you make me blush." She teased wickedly, pretending to be flustered.
He shoved a plate in her direction. "Here. Eat."
"Thanks, dear."
"Gray-" he warned, bad-tempered.
"Oh! I meant to ask," she said, ignoring him and speaking through a mouthful of succulent meat, "…Mm, this is delicious, by the way-" she swallowed, her mouth watering at the delicate flavour of whatever he had marinated the bird in, "If there was never an elaborate trap waiting for me, then what were Avery, Nott and Mulciber doing out here last night?"
He raised an eyebrow at her as if the answer was obvious. "They were setting up the campsite." he gestured vaguely at the tent and campfire.
She frowned. "But you could have done all of that yourself, with a wave of your wand," she said, puzzled. "I thought magical tents were enchanted to be so simple to set up, even a Squib could do it."
He shrugged. "They are. But I didn't feel like carrying the bag."
She facepalmed, thinking of all the trauma she'd put poor, stupid Avery through... over their little trip to drop off a bag in the forest. "Merlin's beard, you're a tyrant…" she muttered to herself.
Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted as if in agreement.
After supper, and a warm butterbeer that Tom had thoughtfully packed, they got up and walked over to the Moving Stones.
Amalia had brought her satchel filled with her most practical spellbooks and notes (and several healing compendiums, thinking she'd need them after the duel). Riddle had the translation of the runes on a piece of parchment, and had evidently done his own research into curses, as Amalia had seen first-hand as a cat, the night she ambushed him in his room. They were finally prepared to try and solve the mystery of the first Moving Stones.
They paused, looking up at the Stones in silence for a few minutes. There were seven stones in total: six tall ones reminiscent of Stonehenge and arranged in a loose circle around the seventh, which was only about waist-height and contained a shallow depression, like it was a basin meant to hold a liquid of some kind.
And in the stone basin lay a knife, its handle and blade both carved from stone.
Amalia had already ventured once into the Forest, before Christmas, to find the first location of the Moving Stones according to the tapestry. During that trip, she'd taken notes of the runes that shone silver-blue in the moonlight, inscribed in the six stones that ringed the clearing, and had also taken note of the knife, though she had known better than to touch it before translating the runes.
Now, they had the translation, and knew what had to be done.
Tom cleared his throat, glancing down at the translation on the parchment, complete with their best attempts to make sense of the ambiguous runes. It had taken them a considerable amount of time to come up with the relatively short translation.
Path (way? road?) of the knife:
The knife is an offering (sacrifice) of blood.
Blood is given by the unhappy (unwilling?) man.
Death is defeated to open the next path (way/road?).
"So. You first?" he offered calmly, nodded towards the knife.
Amalia snorted. "Nice try. I'm the best at healing - you be the first to try out the knife - and I'll take care of whatever goes wrong."
Riddle paused. "Perhaps we should try to discover what kind of curse is on the knife, first."
Amalia smirked. "Sounds like a good plan. If we can figure that out, then I'll definitely be unwilling, and you may have my blood." The translated runes were straightforward enough - hinting at a simple blood offering, a crude but relatively simple sacrifice. The other part - Death is defeated to open the next path- was much more ambiguous. They had already discussed the possible meanings of "defeating death" - and both of them had agreed that it was unlikely someone actually had to die to solve the riddle. They just had to figure out the curse before it killed them.
Riddle's drew his wand fluidly and approaching the central stone. Amalia curiously followed, and watched as he waved his wand in a complicated pattern, muttering a few spells she recognised from the book on counter-curses he'd recommended for her. She shook her head in disbelief - he really had planned this all out.
At first nothing seemed to happen, and then suddenly the knife reacted to one of his incantations. It shivered, shuddering aqainst the stone, and Riddle cautiously stepped back, but just a moment later it stopped moving again, and looked no different than before.
"Interesting." he said thoughtfully, "The knife reacted to the counterspell for the Perniciosa curse - but I don't think the curse was broken. A variation, perhaps?"
"Perniciosa?" Amalia frowned. "That's a curse which can be tailored to mimic the effects of a fast-acting poison, isn't it?"
He nodded slowly, still looking down at the knife. She could tell a hundred possibilities were racing through his head.
"Makes sense, I suppose," she mused, "Having the knife curse you as soon as the blade pierces skin. Then, I would assume you have a limited time to stop the curse from spreading in your body and killing you. If you manage that, you've 'defeated death'."
Riddle slowly picked up the knife - they both tensed. But nothing untoward seemed to happen while he was touching the handle, also made from stone. "I wonder..." he muttered.
"Are you going to try some more counter-curses?" Amalia asked expectantly. She hadn't done nearly as much research into curses as he had, so he was the expert in this area.
"No." he replied, with a trace of irritation. "I could be here all night trying different kinds of counter-curses and still get nowhere- we need to find out what the curse does. I could figure out the counter-curse if I knew what poison it was mimicking-" he suddenly trailed off, his expression wiping completely blank.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Amalia," he said suddenly, voice urgent as he looked down at the knife, "Come here and look at this..."
In a moment of foolishness (and trust brought on by the campfire talk) Amalia obediently stepped closer, her wand loosely held at her side.
"What is-"
Quick as a striking snake, Riddle's hand shot out and grabbed her left arm, yanking her forward until her hand was palm-up, over the stone basin.
She yelped in surprise and instantly realised what he was going to do, but he moved quicker than she could react.
In one sudden movement he slashed the stone knife shallowly across her open palm.
Blood splattered into the stone basin.
Amalia gasped and yanked her hand back, but she didn't feel any pain. A moment later, she realised why.
"Shit." Riddle swore as the knife dropped with a clatter into the stone basin, the handle bloody from where it had cut into his palm. The knife had turned on its wielder, cutting a deep wound into his hand. He staggered back, clutching his wrist to his chest in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood seeping out of the wound at an alarming rate.
"What the hell?" Amalia exploded at him. "We've just made peace, you arsehole - why did you have to do that?!"
He shot her a glare, but it was strained - evidently he was in a lot of pain. "You volunteered, remember," he spat, "To be the 'unwilling' sacrifice?"
She rolled her eyes. "I meant after we had figured out the curse, idiot!"
"You wouldn't be 'unwilling' if I asked your permission first." he snapped back.
Her lip curled. "Admit it, you did this so you wouldn't have to put yourself in danger - and now look what happened."
He stumbled back to lean against one of the taller stones, and gritted his teeth. "Yes, I'm quite aware." he hissed. "Are you going to heal me now?"
"I should leave you out here to rot." she huffed, but approached anyway, getting out her healing compendium. "Ugh, cursed wounds... They're tough to treat at the best of times..." she subsided into muttering as she paged through the book. "What are your symptoms?"
"A bleeding hand." he said sourly.
"Oh, ha ha, very funny," she said sarcastically. "Tell me something useful. Didn't you say you could figure out the counter-curse if you knew what poison it was mimicking?"
He mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?" she drawled. "I didn't quite catch it."
"I was wrong, okay?" he snapped. "I don't recognise this curse at all - and I've started losing feeling in my fingertips. If you're going to do something, Gray, hurry up!"
She snapped the book shut decisively. "I can't work under these conditions." she scowled at him. "We need to take our time, and figure this out properly - like we should have done in the first place. Without being reckless."
"We don't have time." Riddle snarled. "You-"
"Oh, shut up." Amalia drew her wand irritably and swiftly chanted a complex spell, directly over his hand, and, to be safe, the rest of his right arm as well.
"Gray- what did you just do?" he demanded angrily. "That feels worse than before!"
She shrugged. "Well, technically you're not supposed to use this on someone who's conscious. Probably hurts like a bitch?" she asked without a shred of sympathy.
"Gray-!"
"Oh, relax. I just put your arm in a suspended state - the effect isn't permanent, but it should slow the effect of the curse long enough for us to figure things out. I've actually used this spell to save your life once before-"
He frowned. "When was that?"
"You know, that one time we duelled, and I nearly severed your leg?" she said matter-of-factly.
"Oh yes, that time." he muttered darkly. "I remember."
She pushed his fringe away from his forehead, feeling his temperature - he was sweating, but cold to the touch from the blood loss. The bleeding had stopped with the spell she'd used, but she doubted it would hold very long - they had an hour, maybe two.
"Let's go into the tent." she suggested after a moment's thought. "We'll freeze if we stay out here, and you look like you should sit down."
He nodded, and lead the way with an unsteady stride back to the camp, his right arm held stiffly at his side.
Amalia sighed as she followed him, her mind already running through all the possible ways they could try to break the curse before it killed him.
At least life wasn't boring, when Tom Riddle was involved.