If it's any consolation, the last chapter was hard for me to write. Part of the reason I wrote it the way I did, rather than go more in-depth. (I am, myself, a survivor of certain abuses as both a child and an adult; I tried to write it with that in mind).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tom gave her time to calm down, thinking. He supposed it shouldn't have surprised him, given the times she had sneered at Aurek Vablatsky's name, her insisted distance from the man, her odd reactions to affection and certain pet names, the first memory he'd seen of hers months ago. It all fit together.

He was strangely calm, having just learned someone who belonged to him was being abused in such a way. There were few acts which Tom found truly depraved, depths of evil to which he would not descend. What had happened to Elena throughout her childhood was one. Magical children were a treasure to be molded, not receptacles for a deviant's pleasure.

Leaving magical children to starve in orphanages, abusing them… these were all wrong.

Something dripped down his hand and he looked down. He'd apparently clenched his hand so hard blood had started to leak from it. He waved his wand then stood and walked out of the parlor. He smiled at the Notts and Leticia, bade them goodnight, and went upstairs.

He listened at her door for a moment, wondering if he could make out soft sobs, or if he was mishearing the wind outside in the eaves. From what he'd seen of her in the past, Elena was quiet in her pain. Tom slowly swung the door open and he could see her back turned toward him from she lay on the bed. She stiffened.

"Get out," Elena's voice rasped.

The door closed behind him and he sat on the bed, laid a hand on her shoulder, turned her toward him. Her face was dry now, though he could see the tracks from her tears. She stared past him.

"I don't allow others to touch what's mine," he said.

A bitter laugh choked its way from her throat. "Are you going to punish me for it, then?"

"No. I'm going to stop it from happening."

She hesitantly inspected his expression. "Why?"

He arched his brow. "I told you. You are mine, and no one touches what is mine. What that— man— did…" Tom's nostrils flared as he sucked in air. "There are things even I find distasteful, Elena." His hand stroked over her salty cheek. "That is one of them. When I am done with him, Aurek Vablatsky will never think of touching a child again. He will certainly know better than to touch you."

"Oh."

"I would kill him, but," he watched as panic set in, then said, "that might risk your deal with them. I know you do not want that."

Elena swallowed, nodded. She laid there like that for a while, and he sat beside her, idly petting her cheek, her neck, her soft hair. Her breathing deepened, her eyelids growing heavier and fluttering until they shut completely. Tom watched her as she drifted, her face at peace, then gently removed himself from beside her. As he neared the door, her soft voice said, "Thank you."

To anyone who did not know Tom Riddle, they might think he cared for the small young woman he'd collected. He was attentive during the few days before they would leave to her family home. He woke her for breakfast if she slept too late, encouraged her to rest, to eat regular meals.

When she trudged downstairs on her own the morning they were due to leave, he raised a brow and said, "Sleeping beauty awakens, and graces us with her presence." He stood and pulled out a chair for her. "Good morning, pet."

"Good morning," Elena responded primly, reaching toward the water pitcher. Tom got there first, filling her glass. She rubbed at her temple, but murmured, "Thank you," lest he dislike her lack of manners. Tom was unfailingly polite, and expected his followers to be the same.

"You're welcome," he said, sitting back in his seat. "I hope you have an appetite this morning. Breakfast is especially important when one plans to dance away to the small hours of the morning."

Her smile seemed more of a grimace, but she pulled a croissant, poached eggs, and an apple onto her plate. He watched as she put a pat of butter on her plate, tore her croissant apart, and then seemed to think better of it. Her hands shuffled back to her lap and she cleared her throat, facing him. "Before I forget, happy birthday, Tom."

Ah, that was the reason for her early rise. "How thoughtful. Thank you, Elena." He watched her eat, sipping at his tea as she picked at her food. "What will you do with your day before we head out?"

She shrugged. "I was thinking of reading. Teddy found a book he thought I would enjoy in the Nott library."

He nodded his approval. "You should do so in the parlor. Theodorus and I will be playing chess, perhaps indulging in a game of gobstones."

She nodded to that, finishing her meal. Upon that, she went back upstairs.

By the time the girl rejoined them, Tom and Nott were on their second game. The radio was on, a smooth woman's voice crooning through the air. She settled in the corner armchair, a book on her lap and a silver wrapped parcel on top of that. He looked her over, surprised to see that she had taken care with her appearance today; she wore a pale blue dress that skimmed over her knees, her hair styled, even a few makeup charms cast on her face.

She squirmed under his attentions, then stood and laid the book on her seat. "Er, this is for you." Elena held out the small package, which he took without moving his eyes off her. He pulled the wrapping off, taking pleasure in the dry rip of the packaging.

"A bookmark?" he said.

"It— it's magical." She fetched her book to demonstrate. "See, you place it where you want it to remember and just tap the center of the feather swirls with your wand." Elena did just that after she'd set the bookmark at page fifty. "You can use it for any book, and it will remember them all." She pulled it out, laid it beside the book, and it slid back into the pages. "When you want it to forget one, you just tap it against the spine, and say, 'reset.'" After showing that feature, she handed the flat silver piece back to him.

Tom stroked his finger over the delicately etched feathering. "Thank you, doll. It's lovely. I'm sure it will get plenty of use." He smiled up at her, took one of her hands in his, and placed a chaste kiss across the back of it, then returned his attention to the board.

He won two of the three games of chess, losing the second as he decided to change tactics. Nott tried to convince him to play gobstones, but Tom curled his lip at that. "It's too messy for the moment. I would rather not scrub ink off myself." Scourgify did not have much of an impact on the ink from the game, as Tom had found out in his second year.

"You have hours yet before you leave," Nott intoned.

Tom raised his brow and the other young man dropped it.

Some time during afternoon tea service, Elena caught his attention once more. She'd been curled up in her chair reading, silent and nearly forgotten since she'd given Tom the gift. When the song changed on the radio, she suddenly sighed, and he studied her. Her eyes drifted shut, the book's pages ruffling closed on her lap. As she listened, her left hand curled in its place on the arm of the chair, fingers slowly moving along, one of her feet tapping along to the timing of the song.

He considered for a moment as her tongue slipped to touch her upper lip, mouth open, right hand making smooth little motions, brows furrowed. Her father— the real one— was a violinist, she'd told him once. It seemed he'd imparted some of the skill to his daughter, based on her reaction to the haunting tune hanging around them.

"You play?" he said as the song came to a close and she sighed once more, sinking back into the cushion.

"A little. My da taught me a bit, and lets me practice on his violin when I'm home."

"I'm surprised your mother doesn't have you play," he said. It was the sort of gift pureblood society wives liked to show off. All their daughters embroidered or tatted lace, wrote poetry, rode horseback.

She swallowed and shook her head. "Her husband doesn't like when I play. He had me take singing lessons instead."

"You sing, then?"

Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "I can; I don't."

"Humor me," he said, flicking his wand toward the radio to lower its volume. "Sing something."

Elena straightened in her seat, shoulders rigid, face turned toward the window. "I'd rather not."

His voice hardened. "That was not a request." A smile curling at his lips, he added, "Besides, it's my birthday."

Elena stroked at her neat hair as though it needed to be brushed back. "I already gave you a present." Her eyes flicked to him and his steely resolve, and her body loosened in acquiescence. Tom's smile grew and he sat back, turning his chair to face her as she prepared.

After a hesitation wherein she chewed at her lip in thought, then cleared her throat, she began to sing what he believed was a muggle song, though the Latin in it made it fit enough for a wizarding palate. Her voice was clear, melodic, and surprisingly rich in her mouth. There was something arching to her pronunciation.

"Benedicta tu in mulieribus,

Et benedictus,

Et benedictus fructus ventris,

Ventris tuae, Jesus,

Ave Maria…"

There were moments wherein her voice warbled uncertainly, and it was obvious she was uncomfortable with their attention. She had a pretty voice, the sort of voice he imagined most girls would preen at and show off, though there were moments of hesitation in her tune. As she drifted to a close, her hands, which had been fisted together, fell into her lap.

"Brava, doll," he said, as Theodorus joined him in clapping. "That was lovely. Thank you for sharing with me."

Her cheeks reddened beneath the slight layer of makeup. "Of course, Tom," she murmured. It sounded as though her throat were trying to close now that she'd finished her song.

"What was that? It's quite lovely," asked Theodorus. "Is it muggle?"

"Yes, I believe it's from Schubert," said Tom. "Ave Maria, about the mother of their Christ child."

Elena nodded. "It's one of my da's favorites."

"I can see why," Nott said. "Schubert, you said? I'm not familiar with many muggle composers, but perhaps I should look him up."

"Music is one of the few things muggles do well," Tom conceded. "Perhaps because it is the closest they can come to true magic. There are quite a few muggle musicians you may like. I can introduce them to you over time?"

"Thank you, Tom."

They continued discussing music as Elena fell silent once more. He observed her from his peripheral, noting that she seemed thoughtful and faraway.

Soon after Elena's little performance, Ophelia joined them. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Elena, dear." The girl looked up, blinking slowly as she came out of her thoughts. "It's time to start getting you ready."

Her expression was grim as she nodded and stood, smoothing her hands over her skirt.

"I will see you soon," Tom called after them.

Notes:

Okay, here's the thing. I have two ways I can end this story. As I go on, I'm developing the second option more and more. The idea of it ending where I thought it would originally is just... too abrupt. Thus, we are somewhere between two-thirds and halfway there. I've been slowly adding in more of Elena's perspective, because if the story continues, it will be necessary to fill in certain gaps. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me.

Oh, and another note. Tom is indeed a teenager, but he's also a rising Dark Lord. I mean for him to be shown as developing toward the Lord Voldemort we know from the series. This means he's a manipulative little fuck (well, maybe not *little*) who believes he is entitled to the world. However, he is clearly not the Dark Lord we meet in the HP series yet. He's getting there.

I'm trying to keep him to canon as much as possible. This means he doesn't really affection so much as ownership; as far as we see in the novels and movies, he maybe has something resembling near-friendship (while not discounting his use and ownership of) Severus Snape. He has respect for very people, considers the opinions of fewer. All this said, that means he harbors no genuine romantic feelings for Elena in this, though he may attempt to present otherwise to others.

By the way, I had no idea Elena could sing until I thought of the scene in this chapter; it just developed.