Are You Mad?
“A STADIUM. A QUIDDITCH STADIUM. YOU OUGHT TO SEE YOURSELF. I THOUGHT YOU HAD MORE SENSE IN THAT HEAD OF YOURS. LIVING THERE FOR A MONTH! AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR HAIR? WHAT’S GOTTEN INTO YOU?”
Natalie shot Abraxas a glare. Domitia’s fury was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to leave the stadium after the match. The instant they stepped into the Malfoy Manor, Domitia had exploded.
“Mother, please,” Tiberius had also met them in the entrance hall. He placed a hand on Domitia’s shoulder and attempted to calm her down. “Let Fabienne finish healing your granddaughter, and then you can scold her all you like.”
“She looks perfectly alright to me!” snapped Domitia, shaking her son’s hand away.
Natalie grunted, stepped past Domitia and Tiberius and began to walk gingerly down the hallway. The Mediwizards had mended her ribs just fine. Her lung was evidently still punctured, as she was reminded by the need to cough up what felt like heavy phlegm in the back of her throat. The hallway spun around her, making everything blurry.
“Natalie, at least let me conjure a stretcher-” Fabienne Lestrange was still bugging her. She’d traveled back with them to the Malfoy Manor, to Natalie’s displeasure. All the Healers had done was annoy her. They pleaded and cajoled with her in increasingly ridiculous fashions. And of course Domitia continued to nag her.
“REALLY, NATALIE? HIDING OUT IN THE STADIUM? NOT A WORD FROM YOU AT ALL — I’M REDUCED TO HAVING TO READ THE PROPHET JUST TO MAKE SURE MY OWN GRANDDAUGHTER IS STILL ALIVE-”
“Mother,” sighed Tiberius.
“Don’t ‘mother’ me, Tiberius!” barked Domitia. “Can’t you see I’ve got to ‘mother’ my idiotic granddaughter at the moment!”
The words struck a chord within her. Natalie’s slow footsteps faltered, she pulled herself away from Fabienne Lestrange for the umpteenth time. She didn’t want anyone touching her. There were always too many questions after. Her eyes flicked to the wall, where the portrait of Theia Malfoy had once hung. The space remained empty. Good.
She had made it to the stairs. Wiping away the blood that had risen to her lips, she sank down, settling herself on the bottom step and pondering the best way to get upstairs. She could attempt to apparate. Though in her state that would be difficult, and she could risk splinching. She could morph into her animagus form, though that had the same problems. A cough wracked her again, shattering her thoughts. It made her wince, and she pressed a hand to her chest. There was a flash of motion nearby and she peered over. Abraxas had sat on the stairs beside her.
“I’ve got something important to tell you,” he said.
She blinked, wondering what could be so important that he had to let her know right this instant.
“You’re being tremendously stupid right now,” he stated with finality.
Natalie scowled. She wanted to hit him but instead started coughing again. She doubted splinching would hurt more than the pressure she felt in her lungs at the moment so she closed her eyes and attempted to concentrate on her bedroom upstairs.
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” she heard Tiberius announce. Next thing she knew, she was floating away into blackness.
Natalie opened her eyes and found herself staring at a ceiling. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes again to enjoy how painless it was. Then she snapped them open, a thread of panic running through her. She didn’t know where she was.
Pushing herself up, she blearily looked around. She was in her room at the Malfoy Manor. With a huff, she sank back against the mass of pillows behind her. Bright sunlight crept in the windows from behind the curtains, and she briefly wondered what time it was.
“Ugh,” she groaned and ran a hand through her short hair. “Jubbal!” she called her favorite house-elf.
There was a small crack and the little elf appeared. “Yes, Mistress?”
“Where is everyone?” she asked, “also, what day is it?”
“It is the third of February, Mistress. The Masters Malfoys and the Mistress Domitia are in the lounge. Mistress Melania is out shopping-”
She interrupted the elf. “Where is she shopping?”
“Diagon Alley-”
“Excellent,” said Natalie, doing one last inspection of her faculties before jumping up out of bed. The Healers must have fixed her all up once she’d apparated upstairs. “Get me some fresh robes to wear. Something boring. . . non-distinct. I don’t want to be recognized.”
Jubbal hesitated, “Mistress Domitia asked Jubbal not to let the young Mistress leave the house, and to inform Mistress Domitia when she woke-”
“I’ve got an important errand to run, don’t tell her I’m up,” said Natalie. She stalked across the room and opened the door to the adjoining bathroom. Glancing back at the indecisive elf, she called, “Jubbal, Domitia is a Burke. She married into the Malfoy family. I’m a direct descendant of Brutus Malfoy and Madinia Dee.”
With a squeak, the elf hurried off into her closet. Pleased the trick had worked, Natalie stepped into the bathroom and decided to soak in the tub for a moment, to think over her plans for the day.
It was February third. She needed to get her wand back. She knew Tom bloody Riddle still had it, and he obviously didn’t feel overcome by generosity to return it to her. The bastard. He was clearly keeping hold of it to force her to come to him. She’d managed to live without it well enough at the stadium, with the team constantly around her and the assortment of elves to tend to their needs — which only consisted of Quidditch. Though Ricky probably could have used a good curse or two.
She shook her head as she stripped off the Quidditch robes she still wore and turned on the taps in the smooth quartz bathtub built into the floor. An assortment of soapy, scented water poured out, filling the tub. The tub itself was twice the size of a Muggle automobile, and just deep enough to allow her to sit in it with her head resting along the edge. Natalie lowered herself into the tub and sat brooding in the warm water. There was much to think about. Like if Tom Riddle was mad at her. She wasn’t sure if she was still mad at him either, all she knew was that she had a burning desire to see him before her mind imploded on itself.
Jubbal entered with the robes she had requested, placing them upon the polished wooden bench in the middle of the bathroom. The elf’s return made her thoughts shift from Tom Riddle back to Quidditch. Shooting up in the tub so that water sloshed over the sides, she stared at the elf and demanded,
“Jubbal, who won the U.S. - Mongolia match?”
“The United States won the match, Mistress.”
Natalie sank back into the tub and stared up at the Malfoy family crest embossed on the ceiling. The U.S. was the higher seed overall, which meant the English would have to travel to America for the game. They’d lack the advantage of playing on their home pitch, and she’d have to deal with the time zone difference, which always seemed to aggravate her, regardless of how many potions Dent forced down her throat for it.
“I wonder where we’ll be playing them.”
“The United States plays in northeast Texas, Mistress. Jubbal believes it is near a place called Amarillo.”
Natalie stared at the elf, she had not expected to receive an answer. Jubbal squeaked under her gaze and the elf tugged its floppy ears over its eyes. “Jubbal overheard the Master Malfoy, the Minister Master Malfoy, speaking about it.”
“I see,” she mused and her stomach growled. “Get me something to eat and a kettle of tea,” she said and the elf vanished with a bow and a pop.
By the time the elf reappeared with a platter of sandwiches and the tea, Natalie had climbed out of the tub and dressed. She stood surveying herself in the mirror on the wall opposing the tub. Dragging a hand through her hair, she wondered if the robes and the short hair would be a sufficient disguise for what she intended to be a quick trip through Diagon and Knockturn Alleys.
“Jubbal, can you make the robes. . . more modest. And add a hood,” she said. The elf bowed and snapped its fingers. The plain robes grew thicker and looser, a wide hood fell onto her back, until they were the most boring thing she’d ever laid eyes on, certainly nothing you would expect a world-famous Quidditch player to wear.
“How do I look?” she asked the elf, grabbing a sandwich and taking several bites in quick succession.
The elf blinked, unsure how to answer. “Mistress looks delightful, as always-”
“No, I mean, would you recognize me in the streets of Diagon Alley if you weren’t already looking for me?”
“Jubbal isn’t sure-”
“Alright, nevermind,” she said, pouring a cup of tea and draining it within seconds. She didn’t have her wand, so altering her appearance would be tricky. She could always try, of course. Holding up one hand, she studied her palm. After a moment, a crackle of silver lightning bolted between her fingers. But the elf let out a gasp and Natalie’s concentration broke.
“Dammit,” she hissed, tossing the remainder of the sandwich back onto the platter. She looked at the elf in the mirror. “Can you change my hair color?”
Jubbal shuffled in confusion. “Jubbal thinks she can, yes, but-”
“Nevermind that. Make me a brunette, and don’t tell my grandmother.”
The elf snapped its fingers and Natalie watched her short blonde hair turn a dark brown.
“Well done,” Natalie beamed and patted the elf’s head, Jubbal’s pointy face blushed. “I’m off to run errands. Don’t tell anyone I’ve gone. I’ll be back soon.”
Leaving the elf nodding, Natalie turned and disapparated.
She appeared in the entrance of Diagon Alley, just on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. The Alley was fairly crowded, as it was midday on a Sunday. Setting off at a brisk walk, Natalie enjoyed the anonymity the drab robes and dark hair gave her. That was, until a sudden craving for Fortescue’s ice cream struck her and she realized she’d forgotten something. She hadn’t taken any gold with her. She could go to Gringotts, obviously. But the goblins would probably take one look at her with dark hair and throw her out of the bank if she insisted she was Natalie Malfoy.
“Bloody fuck,” she grumbled to herself, standing outside Fortescue’s ice cream parlor and enviously watching customers lick their ice cream. Dent couldn’t get mad at her for eating ice cream after winning the Quarterfinal match while injured. And they didn’t have practice until tomorrow-
“Language, love. You’ve got too pretty a face to say words like that.”
Glancing over, her eyes landed on a dark-haired wizard who was passing by. He looked familiar. She scanned him over and it clicked. He was a Black. She’d seen him at Abraxas’s wedding and the Christmas party, and even spoken to him a few times, but her mind was blanking on his name. She knew he was one of the older brothers of Cassiopeia and Callidora Black.
Her blatant staring caused him to stop and approach her with a smug, flirtatious smile on his face, which just proved his ancestry further. The Black family was full of attractive, arrogant little gits. Which, she supposed, was why the Malfoys got along with them so well.
“You’re not the first witch to be so charmed by my looks,” he gloated, stretching out a hand to pick hers up and lay a kiss on it. She stepped away from him to avoid the contact, mind churning as she tried to recall his first name. Orion? No. That was his cousin. Cygnus? No. That was his brother.
“Alphard!” she exclaimed when it struck her. “That’s it.”
He stared. “How’d you-”
“It’s me!” she said, glancing around to see if anyone had spotted them. A pair of witches heading out of Fortescue’s with towering cones of caramel fudge brownie ice cream gave them a curious look and then giggled to each other. She dropped her voice and stepped closer to Alphard. “Natalie.”
“Natalie? What? Wait, Natalie Malfoy?” he said incredulously. “What happened to your hair? And why are you dressed like a bloody prude?”
“I didn’t want to be recognized.”
“Bloody hell. I thought you were some fit but boring witch who was upset about not being able to get ice cream.”
“I am a fit witch upset about not being able to get ice cream. Can’t say anything about the boring part though. I’ve no gold with me and I’ve. . . misplaced my wand so I can’t change my hair back to go to Gringotts and. . . yeah. . . .”
A grin slowly unfurled over his face and he started to laugh. “The wealthiest Quidditch player in the world, stuck in Diagon Alley undercover without her wand, with no gold to get ice cream. . . .”
Natalie scowled but eventually sighed and laughed along with him until they were both doubled over, shaking with laughter.
“Okay, okay,” she breathed, happy her ribs had fully healed else it would have been a rather painful experience. “Undercover be damned. Can you change my hair back to normal so I can go to Gringotts?”
Alphard looked her over for a moment. “I can just buy you an ice cream, Natalie. I’m sure it’d be much easier, and you can stay. . . undercover.”
She blinked then sheepishly smiled. “Can you? I’ll trade you an autograph.”
“C’mon,” he offered her his arm. “And I don’t need your autograph.”
She elected to take his arm, bracing herself for the shock that usually followed. Except he didn’t flinch or jump at all. He gave her a grin, and she knew he must have experienced it before. She suspected it had been at Abraxas’s wedding. “You don’t?”
“Nope. Already have it. Got it when Winky Crockett made you give out autographs your first year of Hogwarts.”
“What? You kept it?” she asked in astonishment as they stepped into Fortescue’s. The ice cream parlor was full of witches and wizards taking a break from their shopping to indulge in the rich, magical flavors. They moved to take their place in line behind an elderly couple with graying hair.
“To be honest, I forgot I had it,” said Alphard. “Found it stuck in my old Hogwarts trunk about the same time there were rumors going around you had signed with the Tornadoes.”
“I didn't know we overlapped at Hogwarts.”
“We did, for a bit. I’m five years older,” he grinned down at her. “You know, you probably could have strolled in here and gotten free ice cream if you weren’t disguised. Aren’t you being sponsored by this place?”
“Yeah, I am,” she grumbled.
“Want me to start acting like a star-struck fan?”
“Do not! I’ll. . .” she tried to think of the worst thing you could threaten a Black with. “I’ll tell your mother you were shaming the family name.”
“Oh no, how terrifying,” Alphard laughed, “she’d probably ask if we’ve gotten engaged.”
Natalie started, giving him a look. “Engaged? What?”
“You haven’t heard? There’s all sorts of rumors flying about that my mother would love for me to marry a nice, respectable pureblood like you. Your grandmother was apparently partial to it.”
“I. . . I’m dating someone. My grandmother knows that,” said Natalie and she felt her blood quicken as anger erupted in her stomach. They’d reached the front of the line and she blandly gave her order of a butterbeer frappe to Florean himself, who fortunately did not recognize her. Alphard requested the same.
“And yet I’m the one buying you ice cream,” joked Alphard, laying the coins down on the counter.
“We’re. . . in a fight,” she snapped, managing to shoot a smile at Florean when he handed them their ice cream. She took a long sip of the frappe, but it did nothing to improve her mood. She was mad. There was no going back. She briefly touched the ring under her robes and it gave a little pulse, sending tendrils of fire through her skin. They settled in her stomach and seemed to mingle with the pulsing fury that had been stirred up.
The crowded ice cream shop suddenly seemed very claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in around her. She detached her arm from Alphard’s and turned, heading back outside.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” she said as they stepped into the bustling Alley. The weather was turning gray, the sun had vanished behind massing clouds. “I’ve got to go retrieve my wand.”
“That’d be useful,” he said, then gave her a startled look. “Um, Natalie, your hair. . . .”
Tugging at a strand, she realized the dark brown had vanished. It had returned to her usual platinum blonde. A wave of anger rolled through her and sparks flashed along the fingers clutching her hair — house-elf magic was supposed to be extremely strong, not wear off after less than an hour. . . .
“Bloody hell,” she mumbled, dropping her hair and shaking her head.
“Want me to change it back?”
“It won’t be any use,” she said, trying to adopt a tone that would indicate she wished him to leave her alone. “I’ve got to be off, though.”
Alphard grinned and gave her a salute. “Good luck, then. See you around.”
She watched him retreat through the crowds of Diagon Alley before throwing up her hood and storming in the opposite direction, towards Knockturn Alley. The air seemed to crackle around her as she dashed through the masses of witches and wizards, who, thankfully, all managed to get out of her way in time.
But she hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when someone stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She stopped short and found herself glaring at a wizard who couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. He had an awed look on his face, and she noticed he had the national team logo pinned onto his robes.
“Hi,” he said with a nervous smile. “I’m Gerard. I’m a huge fan. . . er, uh, I can’t believe I’m running into you-”
“I can’t either,” she said under her breath, quickly glancing around. Others were starting to look in their direction. Eyes and fingers flew towards her, her name rippling through the crowd. There were several gasps, and someone screamed.
“Uh, hi,” she said to the wizard blocking her path, trying not to sound too panicky. Once upon a time she could stroll through Diagon Alley without causing a mob to form.
“Going anywhere in particular?” the wizard asked, a goofy grin on his face now. A little girl burst from the crowd, sprinted towards them and ran a hand over the hem of Natalie’s robes as if they were a good luck charm. Natalie flinched as the girl let out a yelp and scrambled away, clutching at her hand in astonishment.
“Shit, what the fuck,” she muttered, her skin was crawling with what she was sure was not anything pleasant given the twisted knot of panic and anger that spun about her insides.
“Where’d you say?” asked the wizard.
“Uh,” Natalie hastily looked around over the growing mob. “Uh, Bulstrode’s!” she nearly shouted it upon sighting the familiar store. It was close by, beckoning her to safety. “C’mon,” she looped her arm through the wizard’s and dragged him along with her towards Bulstrode’s Befittings. “You can come with me, I guess. Lovely weather we’re having at the moment, right?” she gestured up at the sky filled with dark gray clouds, using the wizard to help shove her way through the crowd.
Gerard, as expected, was having trouble remembering how to speak. Her anger and panic likely amped up her energy, so the poor bloke probably felt like he was getting struck by a curse.
“It’s. . . ah, yes. . . lovely,” he said weakly after a moment.
“Good, good,” she said, more pleased that the crowd skittered away from her, allowing her to pass by freely. They were almost at Bulstrode’s. A group of young witches stood outside the shop, shooting curious glances at them and whispering behind their fingers to each other. A witch wearing employee robes had stepped out of Slug and Jiggers and was gawking at her, and two little boys playing with a dog had started pointing and shrieking while their dog howled. The entire Alley seemed to have descended into complete chaos. Taking a long slurp of her frappe just to have something to distract herself with, she pulled the wizard into the store and directed him towards the nearest chair. He sat down heavily, looking dazed.
“Natalie!” a voice called, and Quinn Bulstrode appeared beside her. “What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?”
Panting, Natalie dropped her hood and looked around before responding, glad the shop was nearly empty. Only a mother and her small son were getting fitted for robes, and, to her surprise, Melania Malfoy stood near Quinn, a bag in hand as though she were about to leave. Natalie had completely forgotten that she had intended to find Melania on her trip to Diagon Alley.
“Natalie?” Melania looked startled to see her. “I thought you were injured?”
The little boy started jumping up and down as a magical tape attempted to measure his shoulders. “Mummy, mummy, that’s-”
“Don’t point, Freddie, it’s rude,” the mother pushed her son’s hand down but shot an interested look over at them.
“I’ll be right with you, Mrs. Friedman,” called Quinn before she glanced between Natalie and Melania. “What’s going on?”
“Yes,” Melania raised an eyebrow, giving Natalie a concerned look. “What is going on?”
Natalie took a long drink of her frappe before responding, well aware the mother and son were intently eavesdropping. “I heard you were out shopping and planned to visit,” she said, dragging a hand through her hair and feeling a crackle. “I was. . . disguised, and I was heading to, uh, to see Tom, but. . . I got. . . sidetracked.”
Quinn glanced at Gerard, who was slumped in the chair between them, eyes glassy and jaw hanging open. “Who’s this bloke?”
“He stepped in front of me and started talking to me. . . . This was the closest place.”
“So you. . . you dragged him with you to my shop?”
“I thought it was your parents’ shop.”
Quinn looked over at the mother and son and lowered her voice. “Natalie, why does it look like you cursed him?”
“I didn’t,” she hissed, clutching her frappe tightly. Her whole body felt warm and tingly, and she could still hear the whispers and shouts outside. The two boys who had been playing with their dog pressed their noses to the windows of the shop. The group of witches were more casual about peering in, pretending to be looking at a map. “I. . . I panicked. He got in my way at a bad time.”
“He. . . Natalie, he’s right here. He can hear-”
“No, he can’t. Trust me, his brain is practically fried.”
“Why don’t we head to the back and Quinn can give you something more. . . appropriate to wear?” suggested Melania with a gesture to the plain robes Natalie wore. Glancing down, she was horrified to realize that the robes Jubbal had modified were beginning to unravel by themselves, black threads were peeling away as if being burned off. She could see tiny silver bolts darting all over them.
“Brilliant idea,” said Natalie and she jumped towards the double saloon doors, Quinn and Melania on her heels. They burst into the back of the shop and Quinn started flicking her wand through the endless rows of robes, dresses, and other garments.
“Nobody knows I left the house,” Natalie admitted to Melania, who was still looking at her with concern. “I’m going to see Tom. The bastard has my wand and hasn’t felt nice enough to return it to me.”
Melania laughed and said nothing.
“Don’t tell my grandmother,” said Natalie, “or uncle, or even Abraxas, that I left.”
Melania pursed her lips, “Natalie. . . .”
“Please?” she offered, “I’ve healed all fine. There’s nothing for them to be worried about.”
“Alright,” Melania relented. “I won’t mention it.”
“Natalie, do you want anything in particular?” asked Quinn. “And I can put a Reinforcing Charm on them so hopefully they won’t fall apart like whatever the shit you’re wearing now did.”
Natalie pressed a hand to her forehead and restrained a laugh. Everything seemed five times funnier than usual. “Well, I’m bloody pissed and my clothes are burning themselves off and I’m probably about to get in a row with my boyfriend, so. . . .”
Quinn muttered, “maybe I won’t charm them so you can just shag him and save everyone the headache.”
“I heard that.”
“Oops,” said Quinn, not sounding sorry at all, and she waved her wand. A set of silky, dark gray robes with elaborate silver hemming around the collar and sleeves came flying towards Natalie. She snatched them out of the air and ran an eye over them.
“They’ll do,” she said and Quinn pointed her wand at her. The plain robes that were now down to their last threads morphed seamlessly into the sharp gray ones. Another wave of her wand and it felt like a suit of armor clapped itself over Natalie, before the feeling vanished. The three witches stared at the robes, waiting to see if they would fall apart.
When they did not, Natalie sighed. “Thanks, Quinn.”
She waved a hand, “you can go out the back door. It leads right into Knockturn. Unless you want to say goodbye to that bloke you dragged into this.”
“Oh,” Natalie let out a strangled laugh, “um. . . poor kid. He’ll be fine. . . Melania, I’ll see you soon.”
“Be careful,” warned Melania.
“I am,” she said, and saluted the two before she strolled through the shop and slipped out the back door, stepping into the comforting darkness of Knockturn Alley.
Knockturn Alley was slightly less crowded than Diagon, people moved faster here and made less eye contact, which was how she thought it ought to be. Yet they still felt the need to send stares her way. Thunder rumbled overheard as she ducked around a wizard touting a tiny purple cushion with a small gold ball nestled on it and approached Borgin and Burkes.
A thought suddenly striking her, she wheeled back around, nearly tripping over a witch with gray hair down to her knees, to find the wizard with the purple cushion.
“Hey!” she called, and he turned. He had a ratty face and a receding hairline, and she immediately hated him. She gestured at the cushion he carried. “What is that?”
“The lucky Snitch!” he cried and turned the cushion to show the crude drawing of red lips on it. It looked nothing like the Snitch she had handed to Jonathan Shaw after the match. “Kissed by Natalie Malfoy in the Portugal Quarterfinal match! She gave it to me herself, but I’ll give it to you for a thousand Galleons, a real bargain of a price-”
With a scoff, Natalie knocked the cushion out of his hands, desperately wishing she had her wand to vanish it. But the instant it hit the ground, the fake Snitch exploded into puffs of smoke.
“Are you mad?!” the man yelped, dropping to the ground to swipe at the smoke in vain.
“Pissed, actually,” she said, reaching out to pull him up to face her. Before she could grab hold of him, a spark flew from her finger-tips and melted into his skin. A whitish light seemed to shimmer in his veins, giving him an eerie glow as she made eye contact with him. Fear erupted in his watery eyes and there was a split second as recognition flashed across his face, before Natalie, shocked by the unbidden release of her energy, dropped her hand and the wizard crumpled to the ground in a motionless heap. The glow faded from his skin, leaving him pale and lifeless. Natalie looked around and the onlookers who had stopped to watch scurried off.
“Shit,” she mumbled, brushing her hands against the gray robes and hurrying into Borgin and Burkes. The bell chimed her arrival and she tugged the door shut behind her before practically bowling over a customer. Caractacus Burke was not present. His younger business partner, Erasmus Borgin, whom she had met a few times, stood behind the counter today.
“Where is he?” she snapped at Borgin, who looked absolutely terrified at her appearance. His oily dark hair swung over his face, as though trying to hide.
“Mr. Burke does not work on Sundays-”
“Not Burke — Tom Riddle!”
“Running an errand,” said Borgin, an eye flashing towards the disgruntled customer she had almost knocked over. The customer elected to take his business elsewhere, and Borgin shot an accusatory look at her before it melted into subservience. “Mr. Burke sent him to-”
Natalie had forgotten she still held the frappe from Fortescue’s. She slammed it down on the counter between her and Borgin, and it exploded, sending the remnants of her butterbeer frappe everywhere.
“When is he coming back?” she snarled.
A glob of the butterbeer frappe had landed directly on Borgin’s nose. He slowly wiped it away and avoided looking at her. The shop’s bell chimed, his eyes drifted past her and he had the look of a man who had just dumped his problems onto someone else.
“Tom, Mr. Burke said you could have the rest of the day off when you returned,” Borgin hurriedly said. “His niece here is rather eager to see you.”
Natalie whirled around to land eyes on Tom Riddle for the first time since December. He watched her with a stoic expression, standing quietly near the door in pure black robes. It was tremendously rude of him, she thought, to look that handsome when she was this furious.
She stalked across the shop, leaving the mess of butterbeer ice cream for Borgin to deal with. “Where’s my wand?”
Lord Voldemort regarded her with cool eyes, though she caught a streak of red within them as lightning flashed across the sky outside, illuminating the dim interior of the shop. He did not answer. Instead, he turned and walked back out. Natalie bolted after him.
Fat raindrops had begun to fall, sending shoppers fleeing indoors. The wizard with the fraudulent Snitch remained in a heap on the cobblestones, not having moved. She hoped he was just unconscious as she stepped over him, hurrying to follow Tom. He seemed to be heading deeper into Knockturn Alley.
“Where are you going?” she finally called when they’d reached the outskirts of the magical alley.
As if in response, he turned and grabbed her by the sleeve, pulling her along after him.
“Where-” she repeated but he turned again and she was sucked away into the twisting tube of Apparation.
They appeared in the entrance hall of her Irish mansion. She stumbled upon landing, falling into Tom. He caught her, gripping her tightly by the wrist and holding her before him. Her breath caught in her throat as they glanced into each other’s eyes for the first time in over a month. It felt like the sharp cracking of a joint that then brought incredible relief from an unknown pressure. It washed over her and she found herself falling into him again, but this time she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. He returned the hug, holding her against him as if she were about to blow away in a gust of wind.
She had no idea how long she stood there, listening to the beating of his heart, the ticking of his horcrux hanging around her neck between them, and the low growling of thunder outside.
“So. . .” she found words, “are you mad?”
“You are,” he said.
“I. . . you didn’t answer.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Great,” she mumbled into his robes. They still clung to the other like a lifeline. “We’re both mad.”
“So it seems.”
Silence resumed, broken occasionally by a rumble of thunder. The ticking horcrux had grown to a pulsing that reverberated through both their bodies.
“I broke my ribs,” said Natalie, “and punctured my lung.”
“Neither is surprising.”
“I think I could have killed that man in Knockturn Alley.”
“Also not surprising.”
“It was an accident.”
“It usually is with you.”
“I’m a murderer.”
“There are worse things to be.”
“Like what?”
“Like dead.”
“He could be dead.”
“But you are not,” he tilted her head to look into her eyes again. They stared at each other for an eternity, as thunder crooned outside and the pulsing horcrux sent tingles flashing through them, growing stronger and stronger until he bent down and kissed her. She stood frozen for a heartbeat before kissing him back, leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck as they both deepened the kiss, which was much, much easier than talking.
He broke away first. She flicked her eyes open and found him staring intently at her.
“You won.”
“What?” she asked as a wave of calm washed over her. She forgot what they had even been talking about.
“The match,” he said. “You won.”
“Oh, yeah. We won.”
“So you’ll be traveling to America for the Semi-Final.”
“How’d you know?”
He gave her a look as though she had said something so stupid he felt the need to completely change the topic. “Do you not read the articles written about yourself?”
“No. But you do, apparently.”
“The Prophet treats you like a national treasure.”
“Would you say they’re wrong?”
He laughed softly. “Maybe I’ll write them a letter to include how exceedingly arrogant you are too.”
“Well, fuck,” she pressed her forehead to his chest. “Looks like your huge ego is rubbing off on me. I never should have let you sit in my Hogwarts Express compartment our first year.”
“It was I who let you sit in my compartment,” he scoffed and ran a hand over the exact ribs she had broken a few days ago. “Had I known how eager you were to run around getting yourself hurt playing Quidditch, I would have told you to sit somewhere else.”
She glanced up at him and scowled. “I didn’t see the Bludger.”
“You mean you weren’t paying attention.”
“Where’s my wand?” she narrowed her eyes but her hand moved to his pocket.
“Other one,” he said.
She switched to his other pocket and transferred her wand into her own pocket. “Have you just carried it along with you since December?”
“Yes. It’s taken you quite a while to come get it,” he said with a smirk.
“You could have come given it to me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“It would have been. . . nice of you.”
“Nice of me?”
“Yes,” she said stubbornly, “though I can’t say I would ever attach the word ‘nice’ to any of your other qualities.”
“I can’t say the same for you either,” his hand ran over her former broken ribs again. “I would most definitely attach the word ‘idiotic’ to much of what you do, however.”
She pushed his hand away and glared. “You’re mad about Quidditch.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You brought Quidditch up earlier,” she said and a thought struck her. “Oh, shit!” she stepped out of his embrace and slashed her wand through the air to display the time. It was fast approaching evening. “Bloody hell!”
“What?” he stared at the glowing numbers in confusion.
“I’ve got to get back,” she said, “I wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. No one knows I left the Manor and I want to keep it that way.”
Annoyance briefly flashed across his face, as though she had derailed part of his plans. “Idiotic,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you visit,” she snapped, tucking her wand away and straightening her robes. They were back to being mad at the other. “And bring me a butterbeer frappe from Fortescue’s. I didn’t get to enjoy the last one.”
“If that's what's needed to persuade you to listen to reason,” he said coldly.
She had no idea what he meant, but she knew she was not going to like whatever it was, so she didn’t quite care to inquire further. Shooting him one last glare, she turned and disapparated away.