The Interview
Ever since Rosier and Lestrange had (sort of) dueled in the library of the Malfoy Manor, it had become a past time for the group to meet there, dig up a curse or two, and (if they weren’t too dangerous), test them out on each other. After Dolohov accompanied Natalie back from practice each day, she would soak in a bath then stroll over to the hidden library in the Manor to read — where, if Dolohov had “nothing else to bloody do” he would inevitably end up, after bugging the house-elves for food. Eventually, some combination of Lestrange, Dawson, Rosier, Nott, and occasionally even Avery, would drop by. They’d pour over books, uncover old maps, play Wizard’s Chess — until someone found an interesting curse (or got pissed off) and began a duel.
Tom Riddle joined them frequently as well. He and Natalie would eat through books and casually mention any intriguing spells they stumbled upon, proceed to taunt and goad Lestrange, Dolohov, or Rosier (the easiest to work up about something) — and then observe (and usually referee) the duels this produced.
One hot day in July, a week before the English team would be heading to the World Cup, the whole group was planning on dropping in, and they had another task to accomplish as well. Avery was supposed to come by to take notes for an interview with Natalie about the upcoming World Cup, to be published in the Daily Prophet.
Natalie was lounging on the floor of the library in shorts and a loose t-shirt boasting her support for the English national team. The weather had been sultry and oppressive all day, Dent had even ended practice a whole ten minutes early that morning, which was saying a lot. After standing in a cold shower for a half hour, Natalie had joined Dolohov in the hidden library. The large windows of the library were wide open in an attempt to beckon in some sort of breeze, to no avail. Dark clouds were looming far away, indicating an approaching storm that couldn’t seem to come fast enough.
“They don’t teach anything useful at Hogwarts,” Dolohov complained. He sat opposite her on the floor, leaning against the couch. The marble floor was much more comfortable than the furniture. The two were flipping through books, trying to find some spell to cool the interior of the library before the others arrived.
“I can transfigure the couch into a dog but can’t make the temperature bearable,” she grumbled in agreement, tossing aside Titans of Tempests to pick up Inclimate Climates in the Classical Centuries, whose author she was certain had not read his title aloud before publishing.
“What kind of dog?” Dolohov casually asked.
“Don’t know,” she said, running through the table of contents to find something about ungodly humidity. “Maybe a husky because they like cold weather.”
This made Dolohov groan and fling a book away in annoyance. “Nothing in Weathering Wraiths.”
The library door opened, drawing their attention away from the task. Nott and Rosier stepped in, both sipping on what looked and smelled like iced pumpkin juice.
“Where’s mine?” Dolohov immediately demanded.
Rosier moved to allow a house-elf to teeter in, bearing a tray with more iced pumpkin juice.
“Melania had it sent up,” said Rosier with a grin.
“Excellent,” said Natalie, beckoning the elf towards them. She snatched up a cold glass and downed half of it in seconds.
“What’re you doing?” asked Nott as they joined Natalie on the floor.
“Trying to find a bloody spell to sink the temperature in here quicker than a dropped Quaffle,” she said and pointed at the books. “Start looking.”
“We’ve got to help?” whined Rosier. “But it’s so hot-”
“Yes, you’ve got to help,” she snapped, “just find a spell or something that might work.”
“Hold on,” Dolohov sat up in excitement and slid a book across the floor towards her. “Second paragraph from the bottom, mentions a spell that can freeze a lake — it might work. . . .”
“Let’s try it!” exclaimed Rosier, looking thrilled to get out of helping.
Natalie skimmed over the paragraph and frowned. “This is about freezing bodies of water. . . .”
“Try it, try it!” Rosier goaded her on, beckoning at the house-elf for a refill of iced pumpkin juice. She watched the liquid pour into the glass and smirked. Nott caught her looking and raised his eyebrows. She sent him a devious grin, making him immediately put down his own glass of pumpkin juice — Dolohov also pushed his glass away.
Studying the incantation for a moment, she waved her wand and muttered, “giacco frigidilors.”
The glass Rosier was about to drink from shattered as the juice within it froze solid. He dropped it with a yelp. The same thing happened with the others — the juice froze and the glass expanded and shattered. Jubbal the elf squealed and nearly dropped the tray, but a quick charm from Nott immobilized everything affected, preventing glass from exploding out everywhere.
“Why would we try a spell about freezing bodies of water!” Rosier snapped in annoyance, vanishing the frozen pumpkin juice with a flick of his wand.
“You begged me to,” she pointed out.
“I did not beg,” he protested over Dolohov’s bout of laughter. The library door swung open again, and in stepped Lestrange and Dawson.
“Woah,” said Lestrange, looking at the shards of glass suspended in mid-air. “Did we miss the fun?”
“No,” said Nott, vanishing the glass with a wave of his wand. “It’s still hotter than Slughorn’s Potions class at the end of June.”
Dawson groaned in agreement as the two dropped to the floor with everyone else. “That’s for sure. . . why are we all reading about. . . weather?”
“We’re trying to find a spell to lower the temperature in here, you dimwit,” said Dolohov as Natalie started flipping through the book he had sent her way.
“Yes, so start helping,” she said, not looking up from the book. “You too, Evan.”
Rosier grumbled but they all grabbed books and started searching through them in silence. It was too hot to speak unless absolutely necessary. Jubbal cleaned up the rest of the frozen pumpkin juice mess and disappeared, promising to bring back more.
By the time the elf returned, Natalie had stumbled upon something that seemed promising.
“I think I’ve got it,” she announced as the elf started passing around more iced pumpkin juice.
“Oh, good,” said Lestrange. He downed a glass of pumpkin juice, then took out the ice cubes to fling them over at Dawson, who did the same thing back. “I’ve been considering using that curse Eric found that slowly turns your blood to ice.”
“So have I,” said Dolohov, dropping the book he held. “Hurry.”
She flicked her wand to close the windows, looked down at the spell and said, “aerado gelido.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Natalie watched her breath condense as she exhaled and the temperature in the library dropped so fast, she got goosebumps. The boys moaned in relief and slumped onto the floor. Dawson pretended to be making snow angels, sending books spinning around him. One hit Lestrange rather hard — Lestrange proceeded to chuck the book at Dawson’s face. Frost started appearing on the windows and the glasses of pumpkin juice, which turned slushy.
“It’s a bit too cold now,” said Rosier, sitting up and shivering.
“Would you rather be sweating your balls off again?” Natalie snapped, leaning against the chair behind her and relishing in the cool air.
“I mean. . . I guess not,” he muttered. Natalie rolled her eyes and flicked her wand, making a black jumper with the English national team logo appear and fall onto Rosier’s head. He let out a yelp of surprise that turned to delight as he tugged it on.
“I want one!” demanded Lestrange and Dawson, no longer throwing books at each other.
“Me too,” said Dolohov.
“And me,” added Nott and Natalie laughed to herself.
Once they were all outfitted in identical jumpers boasting the national team logo, Dolohov climbed to his feet and started pointing his wand at the assortment of weather-related books, returning them to their spots around the library. Dawson and Lestrange stood to help him, which Natalie assumed would not last long once they became distracted by something.
The door opened for the third time. Tom Riddle stepped in, a curious expression on his face that turned into amusement once he spotted the boys all wearing the same jumpers.
“I see the troops are assembled. . . but why is it so cold in here?” he asked, strolling over towards where she remained on the floor.
“Because it’s bloody hot out,” she said, and the others chorused their agreement.
“Then — how is it so cold in here?” he asked, nudging her with his foot until she moved so he could take the seat in the chair behind her. She settled back to lean against his legs and pointed at the book Dawson was racing across the room against another book, controlled by Lestrange.
“Aerado gelido,” she said, “a charm invented by a tosspot of a wizard who didn’t like people visiting him. He would make the temperature of his house so cold, they would leave.”
The books dropped to the floor as Lestrange and Dawson whipped around to face her.
“Are you trying to freeze us out so we leave?” demanded Lestrange, adopting a hurt expression.
“Yes,” she deadpanned and the room fell silent until Dolohov started snickering.
“Oh,” Lestrange realized, “you’re joking.”
Natalie rested her elbow on Tom’s knee and waved a hand. “Adolphus, if I wanted you to leave, it would be much more obvious. Besides, I need you lot here to entertain me with this interview.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Dawson. He had, as expected, grown distracted by the title of another book and was now skimming through it while Dolohov picked up the books he and Lestrange had dropped. “Where’s Lloyd?”
“Should be coming soon,” she said, looking towards the door. Almost instantly, it swung open and in stepped Lloyd Avery. Shock flashed over his face that then turned to relief as the cold air hit him. Greetings hailed around the room and he looked discombobulated for a moment before he spotted Natalie and headed towards her. He pulled a chair over to sit across from her and Tom Riddle, sank into it, and pulled something out of his bag, holding it out to her.
“Here,” he said, a golden Snitch nestled in his palm. “Jonathan Shaw wanted to give this back to you.”
Natalie lifted it up and looked it over. It was the Snitch from the Portugal match, the one she had kissed blood all over. The blood was still there, undisturbed and vaguely in the shape of her lips. A sheen covered the entire ball like a second skin.
“It’s charmed so the blood won’t come off,” explained Avery with a shrug. “Bit of a memento for you.”
“Gross,” she said with a laugh but hovered it across the room until it landed on the mantlepiece of the fireplace. “There. So everyone can see it. Now, what’s this interview the Prophet wants?”
Avery grabbed some parchment, a clipboard, ink, and quill from his bag and set himself up, ink and quill floating in the air beside him. “Prophet is running an interview of all the national team players. Just some. . . good publicity. . . get everyone excited for the upcoming World Cup-”
“Yeah, she definitely needs some good publicity,” remarked Dolohov. Nott had challenged him to a game of Wizard’s Chess and the two had set up at a small table nearby. Rosier, Lestrange, and Dawson were snickering at something across the room.
“Oi, Zack, when are you gonna beat Antonin? I wanted to duel him today,” called Lestrange.
Nott scoffed, “I was going to duel whoever beat me at chess, and Antonin claims he can-”
“That’s mental!” exclaimed Rosier, “nobody can beat you at chess!”
“I have,” drawled Tom Riddle, making everyone fall silent, save for Natalie’s quiet laughter. Evidently, she was the only one who found this funny.
“He has,” Nott confirmed this as correct.
“Of course, we have only played twice,” said Tom. Natalie covered her face with a hand to hide her laughter and felt him begin to thread his fingers through her hair. But then she shot her head up and looked over at Nott.
“Can I play you?”
“No,” said half the room. She looked around in shock.
“Well, bloody hell! Why not?”
“You don’t have the patience to play chess,” Lestrange yawned, pointing at something in a book he’d found to Dawson, who snickered. “It’s too calm.”
She scowled. “I like calm things! I like. . . I like reading books! That’s a calm thing!”
“Yeah, but chess involves another person,” said Nott and he gestured at his board. “Plus, I don’t want you ruining my third chess set — and you’re supposed to do this bloody interview.”
“Oh, yeah,” she turned back to Avery, who had sat quietly and watched. ”Lloyd, what does the Prophet want to know?”
“That they don’t already know,” Dolohov said under his breath as he made the first move on the chessboard against Nott.
“Well,” Avery shuffled through some parchment. His inkpot floated around in the air, knocking against his head. “They want some background info — I’ve, er, already taken the liberty of writing all that out — stuff from Hogwarts like prefect, Head Girl, Quidditch captain-”
“Drama queen,” called Lestrange, making Dawson and Rosier erupt into laughter.
“You don’t think primadonna would fit better?” Dawson asked in a very poor attempt to whisper.
“I like primadonna,” said Natalie, resting her head against Tom’s knee and watching Avery grow flustered. She could tell he was trying his best to avoid making eye contact with Lord Voldemort. Tom continued playing with her hair, occasionally tracing a finger over the back of her neck.
Avery shot a glare at Lestrange, Dawson, and Rosier, who were all pointing and laughing at the inkpot rapping itself against Avery’s head. “I can’t write stuff like that in the Prophet!”
“Why not?” asked Dolohov, he sounded annoyed but Natalie suspected it was because Nott’s knight just took out his queen.
“Because I can’t!” Avery hissed at Dolohov. He turned back to Natalie, who was grinning at him. He looked disconcerted for a moment but shook his head, spilling some of the ink in his floating inkpot. He finally snatched it from the air and settled it precariously on the armrest of his chair. Natalie already knew this was a bad idea — and had to hide her grin when she spotted Lestrange subtly point his wand at the inkpot.
The ink toppled over into Avery’s lap, splattering all over the parchment he held. Natalie was surprised when he merely tapped the parchment with his wand, vanishing the spilled ink as though he had charmed the parchment in advance to be impervious to ink spills. The disappointment on Lestrange’s, Dawson’s, and Rosier’s faces at this was comical. She had to slap her hand over her mouth to avoid bursting into laughter.
“Right,” said Avery, completely unbothered, “next we’d like to include some quotes about your, er, thoughts about the upcoming World Cup — how excited you are, if you’re nervous or anything-”
“Those are feelings, not thoughts,” coughed Dawson.
Lestrange smacked him. “You can’t ask the princess about her feelings! She doesn’t have any!”
“Yeah, Eric,” Rosier was clutching at his stomach, trying to prevent his laughter. “C’mon, how could you be so rude?”
“Downright disrespectful,” added Dolohov.
“So improper,” Nott sighed as he moved his queen. “Checkmate.”
Dolohov pulled out his wand and lit the board on fire with one flick of it.
“Antonin!” howled Nott, jumping to his feet in horror. “That’s the third chess board!”
“Sorry,” said Dolohov, not sounding sorry at all.
“Hand him over, Zack!” exclaimed Lestrange, strolling towards them. “He’s mine — I’ve been waiting for this duel-”
Nott turned and fired a spell at Lestrange. He ducked just in time, but the spell hit Dawson, who was thrown back against the bookshelves and fell to the floor with a groan, dozens of books raining down on him.
“Oi!” Lestrange looked murderous at this turn of events. “That’s my best mate!”
“Don’t forget best man,” said Rosier. He leisurely started hovering the books off Dawson one at a time, who stuck his hand out of the pile to wave as if agreeing with Rosier’s statement.
“And best man!” yelled Lestrange.
Nott flung a hand at the burning chessboard. “And that was the third chessboard that’s been lit on fire!”
Natalie patted Tom’s knee at the exact moment he tugged her hair rather hard. It was time to get out of the line of fire. She turned and looked at him to find him already smirking at the events unfolding around them.
“Follow us, Lloyd,” said Tom as they both stood and crossed the room, the armchair hovering after them. Avery and all his parchment dutifully followed. They resettled near the fireplace, which was considered the “out of bounds” spectator area whenever a duel sprung up between the group.
Or it had been. A spell shot right above their heads, coming so close Natalie felt it ruffle her hair. It cracked several of the bricks of the empty fireplace with a loud bang. Ducking, Natalie whipped around to find who had shot the spell. Nott and Lestrange were locked in a furious duel, Nott screaming about his chessboard. Rosier was taking his sweet time helping Dawson out from the mountain of books, but Dolohov still sat near the burning chessboard, looking upset that the duel had ended up being between Nott and Lestrange. He gave her a cheeky smile, twirled his wand around his fingers, and winked.
“Why — you little bastard,” she muttered under her breath and drew her own wand. Tom grabbed her wrist before she could storm across the room.
“Did you plan on actually dueling him-”
“Yes,” she spat, trying to shake him off her. To her surprise, he released her and stepped away. Putting him from her thoughts, she stormed across the room towards Antonin Dolohov. It briefly came to her mind that she was heading into a duel wearing shorts and a t-shirt, which was not her preferred dueling outfit, but she supposed it didn’t matter. Dolohov had thrown his first spell behind her back, so she wasted no time on the niceties.
She sent several curses at him in quick succession. He managed to jump to his feet in time to parry them all, though one hit the burning chessboard and sent it tumbling to the floor. Someone shot a spell at it to put the fire out, but she didn’t see who.
“I’ll go easy,” Dolohov called, “nothing too Dark. No Unforgivables.”
“That doesn’t sound like your definition of fun,” she snapped, twirling away from one of his spells.
“I’m not talking to you,” he said with an eye-roll. “Primadonna was right-”
She hit him with a nonverbal Aguamenti Charm that drenched him instantly.
“This again-”
His wand flew out of his hand with a quick Expelliarmus. Natalie straightened, whispered one of the spells she had learned earlier and crossed her arms.
“That was pathetic, Antonin,” she said.
“It was bloody awful,” said Lestrange. He and Nott had paused their duel to watch. They both looked disappointed to have done so.
“I said I’d go easy-” Dolohov began but he abruptly paused and looked down. “What the-”
The water from the Aguamenti Charm that had soaked him froze, the national team jumper became crusted with frost, dragging him downwards. Even his dark hair froze over, pulling his head down as his hair stuck together in chunks of ice.
“Did you forget it was cold in here?” she shrugged, waving a hand through the air.
“It’s not this cold!” he protested, trying to wipe the ice off his hair. He shot a look up at her. “You used that spell!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said smoothly, turning around to walk back towards Tom Riddle. He sat quietly in the armchair near the empty fireplace, his face a mask. But something in his eyes sent a trickle of suspicion through her, and she paused, one foot mid-step in the air.
Then a spell hit her from behind. She flew forwards, flinging her hands up to avoid smashing headfirst into the bricks of the fireplace and growling as she received quite a few scrapes from this. Thank Merlin for magic else Dent would kill her if she showed up to practice tomorrow morning with bandaged hands.
She flew to her feet to find Tom Riddle still in the armchair, staring at Dolohov. He briefly looked pleased about something before his face turned into a stoic mask. Lestrange and Dawson dashed to her side, asking if she was alright, but she pushed past them.
“Attack your opponent when they have their back to you, Antonin?” Tom said in a smooth voice. “That is low for you.”
Natalie stared at Lord Voldemort, then her eyes flew to Dolohov. She darted a few steps forward, pointed her wand at Dolohov and muttered, “giacco frigidilors interno.”
Dolohov dropped to the floor with a choked yelp, thrashing around and gasping for air, shards of ice flying off his flailing limbs. All eyes flew to her as everyone in the room paused. Voldemort turned to her in surprise.
“What was that?” he sounded bewildered, which made her raise her eyebrows at him. Nott crossed the room and dropped to Dolohov’s side to study him. Antonin’s muscles were spasming on their own as his eyes drooped as though he would soon lose consciousness. His breathing grew harsh and ragged — then they all heard it stop entirely.
Natalie pointed her wand at Dolohov again and said, “finite incantatem.” With a gasp, he shot up, water dribbled from his mouth before he slumped back down to the floor, panting for breath.
Tom Riddle stood and walked towards her, a curious look on his face that was soon replaced by amusement. “What was that?” he repeated in a soft voice.
She glared at him. “Did that not go to your plan?”
His eyes darkened and something like amusement flashed across his face. She went to snap another retort but Nott was looking over at her in shock. “That spell. . . you froze the water. . . inside his body.”
From beside her, Lestrange and Dawson sucked in a breath and both said, “wicked.”
“What?” exclaimed Rosier, joining Nott in staring down at Dolohov. He remained on the floor, breathing shallowly and occasionally spitting up water. “Um. . . he doesn’t look so good. . . .”
“You made up that spell on the spot,” said Voldemort. He almost sounded accusatory and she had half a mind to use the same spell on him.
“I’d call that a curse,” said Lestrange, peering over at Dolohov and wincing. “A Dark curse.”
Natalie scowled, mostly because the look on Voldemort’s face was now giving her mixed feelings. She wasn't sure if she wanted to duel him or snog him. “It was the spell from earlier that freezes bodies of water. I just added the last bit to work on him — an experiment, more like. I wasn’t sure if it’d work.” She turned to find Avery watching the whole scene with wide eyes.
“Do not include anything about this in that article,” she snapped and he shook his head furiously.
“Wasn’t gonna,” he said.
“Good,” she said, walking back towards the chairs near the fire, Tom Riddle on her heels. Lestrange and Dawson moved to study Dolohov. She perched herself on the armrest of the chair and Tom returned to his seat. She settled an arm on his shoulder to balance as she looked over her scraped hands. He immediately rested a hand on her knee that jutted out towards him. She ignored him, concentrating on her palms and making tiny white bolts dart over her fingers. Her hands grew warm as the skin healed and grew smooth. Tom flicked his wand and vanished the streaks of blood.
“How much of that did you script?” she asked with a slight edge to her voice.
He ignored the question, tightening his hand over her knee. “You are aware that if you turned your back to someone who actually wished to do you harm, you would have been killed, correct?”
“Had I been facing someone who actually wished to do me harm, I wouldn’t have turned my back on him until he was no longer a threat.”
Avery coughed, drawing their attention to him. He held up the parchment.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of just. . . writing in some answers. . . .”
“Oh, shit, I forgot,” she held out a hand. He placed the parchment in it and she skimmed it over. “This is terribly boring, Lloyd. Am I not allowed to have any personality?”
He fidgeted in his seat. “Er, perhaps a little.”
“Lovely,” she shot a look across the room to watch Nott and Rosier help Dolohov up. He looked a bit shaky on his feet, and Lestrange and Dawson were inundating him with questions about how he felt.
“You might need to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Nott.
“Fuck that,” said Dolohov, wincing as he pressed a hand to his chest.
“My mum can look at you,” offered Lestrange, “I can say we were dueling, she’ll believe it.”
“Sure, whatever. . . what bloody spell was that?”
“I made it up,” Natalie called to him, grabbing Avery’s quill and starting to liven up his answers. The wizarding world deserved more than just that she was “feeling excited” about the upcoming World Cup.
The room fell silent and Tom Riddle started laughing quietly to himself so she scribbled some quick praises of Fortescue’s butterbeer frappes and the Leaky’s shepherd's pie and looked up. Dolohov was staring at her with a thunderstruck expression on his face, despite his breathing sounding very wet and haggard. She tilted her head and focused her hearing on his lungs for a moment.
“Adolphus, having your mother check him out might not be the worst idea you’ve had,” she said, keeping her voice light as she returned to jotting down some notes for Avery to use.
Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her down so she slid into his lap. She shot him an annoyed look as she needed some magical assistance to balance the parchment, quill, and ink. He ignored her expression and batted the inkpot to the floor when it rose into the air and started tapping against his head like it had done to Avery.
“Why?” he quietly asked, just as Lestrange loudly demanded, “why?”
“Yeah, uh, why?” Dolohov repeated before he started coughing.
Natalie waved a hand. “His lungs sound very. . . liquidy.”
The four boys turned to look at Dolohov as though he were some exotic animal. Dolohov hacked and coughed until he spat up more liquid, tinted red this time.
“What. . . what did you do to me?” he wheezed, clutching at his chest.
“Sorry, Antonin,” she said with a wince, though Tom Riddle made an offended noise, draping his arm over her legs to rest his hand just above her knee.
“Don’t apologize,” he whispered in her ear.
“No, it’s. . . .” Dolohov spat out more liquid. “Brilliant. . . .”
“Alright,” Lestrange rolled his eyes and pushed Dolohov towards the door. “You can tell her how much you’re obsessed with her later. We’ll take you to see my mum.”
“Learn some healing spells while you’re at it!” Natalie called after Dawson and Lestrange as they guided Dolohov out of the library. When they opened the door, an owl bearing a letter burst in, twittered in a circle near the ceiling before dashing over towards Nott and Rosier.
“Oh, bloody hell,” groaned Rosier, taking the letter from the owl. He unfolded it and glanced it over, his face souring. He looked up at Nott. “Seamus wants us to come in, something about Switzerland-”
Natalie didn’t hear what Rosier said next because Tom began drumming his fingers against the bare skin of her knee before slowly running his hand up her thigh, making her thoughts slow. She flung the parchment and quill back towards Avery.
“Here. . . I — I think it’s good. . . .” she managed to squeak out.
“Brilliant,” said Avery, he looked the parchment over before packing it up along with his quills and ink. “I’ll have to run it by Rabastan, of course. . . .”
“Oi, Lloyd, do you want to come with us?” asked Nott, “we’re heading to the Ministry now.”
“Before they start shagging,” Rosier muttered under his breath. Natalie shot a glare at him and he started gazing out the windows with extreme interest. “Huh, it looks like rain soon. . . .”
“Yeah, let’s head over,” agreed Avery, crossing the room to follow them out. Once their snickers died away when the door shut behind them all, Natalie rolled out of Tom’s lap and hit the floor with a groan, sprawling out and covering her face with her hands.
“Why did you do that?” she snarled, “what if I killed him?”
“Why must you always fling yourself onto the floor?” he demanded instead. “I mean, really — all you do is lie about the floor and sit on surfaces that aren’t meant to be sat on.”
“Oh, fuck!” she shot upwards to stare at him. “I should have included that in the interview! It would’ve been brilliant — it could be. . . my quirky habit or something.”
“What quirky habit? Your notorious lack of self-control?”
“No, my lying about the floor and sitting on places not meant to be sat on.”
“That’s a shame, because your notorious lack of self-control makes you far more interesting to be around.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought you disliked my ‘notorious lack of self-control’.”
“I do. But self-control and your notorious lack of self-control are not necessarily opposites. Some state of controlled notorious lack of self-control would be ideal for you, I believe.”
She jumped to her feet and her wand flew into her hand. She pointed it directly at him, the words notorious lack of self-control spinning through her brain. “Admit you told Antonin to provoke me today.”
He smirked, rising to his feet and twirling his wand around his fingers. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
Without hesitating, she flung a Stinging Hex at him but he quickly conjured a Shield Charm, and her hex shot off and hit the ceiling with a bang. Their close proximity and the strength of his charm knocked her down and flung her backwards. She landed on the floor in front of the couches, beginning to roll up to her feet but she found herself frozen. She glared up at him, infuriated at his unexpected, nonverbal Impedimenta Charm. He gave her a smug smirk as she crashed back to the floor, no longer able to capitalize on the motion of being thrown across the room, thanks to him.
“Protego!” she snapped from the floor as he sent another hex towards her, it bounced off her Shield Charm and flew over his head. She jumped to her feet and dropped the Shield Charm as he bounded towards her.
“Flipendo!” she hissed. He blocked the jinx with a lazy wave of his wand, so she shot the jinx at him again, nonverbally. But he must have predicted something like this and was already jabbing his wand to cast a silent Backfiring Jinx, sending the Knockback Jinx at her.
Her own jinx flipped her backwards. She landed heavily on the couch behind her with a gasp, the wind knocked out of her. She went to pick herself back up but Tom snatched the wand from her hand and tossed it aside, then grabbed her shoulders and used his whole body weight to push her back down onto the couch.
He smirked. She sneered. He leaned down so their faces were inches apart.
“Not a single duel today was any good,” he said, sounding incredibly judgmental. “Though I suppose I can’t be too disappointed with yours — I was expecting some sort of thunderous energy, not a new curse.”
She wiggled her arms up to sling them around his neck, pulling him down while kicking at his knee, forcing him to fall on top of her. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”
“You mean you weren’t trying.”
“I — okay, no. I wasn’t trying.”
“How. . . amusing. I wasn’t trying either, and yet I won our duel.”
She scoffed, “you didn’t win.”
“You don’t have your wand and I am physically — and metaphorically, because I’ve won our duel — on top of you.”
Natalie wasted no time in ramming her elbow against the couch and reversing the force to roll them both onto the floor. Only for him to use the momentum to flip them over again, pinning his knee against her stomach and holding her arms down at her side.
She glared up at the devilish smirk on his face and went to snap a remark, but she heard the library door open and footsteps approach. She looked up to find Abraxas peering over the couch at them. He glanced all about the library, noting the fallen books, scorch marks, and broken bricks around the fireplace.
“Do you always have a duel before shagging?” he asked it as though they were all having tea and discussing the weather.
“Well, not always,” she said, still pinned under Tom Riddle. He kept his dark gaze on her and she had to stop herself from squirming. They both knew Abraxas was right about this time.
“Well, Grandmother wants your little gang to stop having duels in here.”
“What?” she gasped, “how’d she know-”
“How wouldn’t she know,” drawled Abraxas and he gestured around the room. “Make sure you clean this all up.”
“We will,” both Tom and Natalie said at the same time. Her eyes flew to him and they stared at each other as they listened to Abraxas’s footsteps head out.
“Oh,” Abraxas called from the doorway. “Melania would like one of those jumpers that you gave to your little gang.”
Natalie rolled her eyes at his repeated usage of this phrase. “I assume you also want one?”
“Possibly,” said Abraxas. She could not see his face but his tone indicated that he very much wanted one.
“O-okay,” she squeaked out because Tom had pushed her hair aside and started kissing her neck, nipping along her skin and slowly moving towards her lips.
She heard Abraxas laugh as though he knew exactly what had begun before he stepped out and left them alone.