His obedient pet. Upon entering the dungeon room where he held his meetings, Tom conjured up a winged chair and sat back against the green and cream velvety material. Elena stood awkwardly before him, still in her school uniform minus the robe and vest. He appraised her slowly, from the neat bun her pale brown hair was swept into to the patent leather of her Mary Janes, then held out his hand expectantly. A smile crossed his lips as she placed her own on it and allowed herself to be pulled between his knees.

"Have you thought about what you'd like to do after you graduate?" he asked, thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand before releasing it.

By the startled expression, he assumed that was not at all what she expected. "Yes, some." When he just stared at her, she went on. "I think I would like to go into law, become a solicitor eventually."

"Really? You are so honest though."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, well. I'm not going to be the one in the courtroom."

Tom nodded, then ran his fingers down her side. Elena startled slightly, laying her hand on his thigh for balance. When realized what she'd done, she tried to pull back as though she'd been burned, but he caught her small hand, laid his own over it. "Don't," he said. "I like when you touch me." He tugged her closer, encircling her waist and leaning forward to touch his lips to her ear. She was already trembling, and he smiled before placing a small kiss on her cheek.

"Is this why you called me here?" she said in an oddly strained voice. "I would hate for you to get yourself in a heated state again, especially right before a meeting."

Tom sighed and sat back again. "No, and you knew that. Stop being a brat." He waved a hand and his journal flew into it. "I wanted to discuss your future with you. I've already done so with the others. Based on your recent performance in classes and what I suspect your NEWTs scores will be, becoming an attorney is a solid choice. Depending on what firm you join— you will be joining a law team? Good— that could prove advantageous for our goals. I'll expect you to join a team with someone who has political potential, influence. What?" He tipped her face toward him, taking in the thin line of her lips.

"You seem to have forgotten that I am not one of your Knights," she said evenly. "I will not need you to keep to our— our deal after Hogwarts, Tom. With a job, I should be able to provide for my father without Cassandra's assistance."

Tom rolled his jaw, considering both her words and her face. "You forget that's not your only secret."

"If you come forward about my prophecies, I come forward about what you are."

He laughed, a short, sharp sound that caused the girl to flinch in his embrace. "Oh, sweetheart. You would have made a dreadful Slytherin if you think that'll deter me. Afterall, that you knew and did nothing makes you complicit in my crimes."

"You cannot possibly expect me to—"

"How will you reveal me for what I am when you seem to have forgotten yourself?" He held her chin firmly, voice going flat, and her eyes widened. "Do you need another lesson? Hm?"

"No," she breathed, only belatedly adding, "my lord."

"Good." He released her face and began paging through the journal on his lap, one arm still holding her in place. As he reached the page he was looking for, Tom stroked his finger over the figure eight of the serpent inked onto it.

The girl peered over it curiously, apparently recovered from her moment of fear. "What's that?"

"It's my Mark. Do you like it?" he asked, smirking as her eyes traced it.

"I didn't know you could draw. It's rather dark, isn't it?"

"Well, it is called the Dark Mark, pet. I'm going to place it on my followers tonight, a mark of their loyalty to me and my cause." He watched as she puzzled over it, the notes in his neat writing along the margins. "It's a living tie through which I will be able to summon them to me."

"How does that—ah, the Protean charm?" Elena learned into him, frowning over his notes and the design. "You're designing wards attuned to its presence as well? How long have you been developing this?"

Tom snapped the journal closed, relishing her slight jolt. "A while. But you never answered my question, sweetheart. Do you like it?"

The frown had returned. He nearly grinned as it morphed into disbelief. "No."

"No?" Tom feigned surprise. "No, what?"

Elena glared, pulling her hand from where she'd obediently kept it to cross her arms over her chest, stepping back. "I will not let you put that on my body."

He encircled both of her wrists. "You're under the assumption you have a choice."

"No, Tom." She shook her head, firmly tugging against his hold. "You have already tied me tightly to you without my consent. If you put that on me, I cannot ever go back. You'll remove all choice I have. I may as well truly be your doll."

"There was never a chance of you going back, Elena."

Her eyes bored into his, the blue brighter from her distress. Her pulse was a thready tattoo against his thumbs. "Please." Elena's voice broke at the plea. "Please don't do this. I've been obedient, haven't I? I've done what you require. If you do this, I…" she trailed off as tears threatened to overwhelm her.

"What do you offer in return?" Tom said after a moment of consideration. Her mouth opened, a furrow between her brows. "You can't expect me to agree without something in it for me, Elena." He could see her working to think of something but coming up empty. A note of panic had entered her eyes. Tom pulled her closer again, releasing her wrists to slide his hands around her slight form. "I am not needlessly cruel; I will not make you take the Mark tonight." Elena let loose a shaking sigh of relief. "In the meantime, you are going to continue being such a good girl, and you will think on what it is you can offer in exchange for my kindness. Is that amenable?"

"Thank you."

"Don't I take good care of you, pet?" At her nod, Tom drew her onto his lap, her legs across his own and feet hanging over the arm of the chair. "You won't speak of this little deal to anyone. The men don't need to know, understood?"

"Yes."

He kissed her gently, knowing there wasn't time for more. It was unfortunate seeing as she was pliable and feeling grateful for his clemency. Tom let the idea of using that to his advantage go for now, stroking over the top of her head and guiding her to lie against his chest.

A sharp knock at the door drew his attention and Tom slipped out his wand to lift the wards from the room. "Off my lap, pet," he said. She clambered off him and stood uncertainly, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "Sit here," and he conjured a little stool for her to sit by his legs. Once situated, he called out, "Enter."

His punctual band of followers marched in and lined up before him.

"Gentlemen, welcome. Tonight, our last night as students at this fine institution, I have decided it is time to bond us all as, well, a family of sorts. You five and the currently absent Mulciber have proven yourselves truer than mere followers. As such, you should be set apart. The honor I bestow upon you tonight is one only the worthiest will bear. As the first, you deserve recognition. Under this Mark the world shall know fear. And by this Mark, all will know you as the lieutenants of Lord Voldemort. Morsmordre."

Green light shot into the air before him and manifested into a skull, the jaw falling open and a hissing serpent curling out of it. The five followers all stared in fascination until another wave of yew caused it to dissipate.

"You will all bear my Mark on your left arm, your sinister side. With it, we will all be bound to one another. You will be able to call to me through it and I will be able to do the same. Who among you would like to be the first?"

Five sets of eyes gazed back at him, caught between shock and awe. Dolohov was the first to pull himself out of it, stalking forward even as he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the expanse of his left forearm. "My lord," he said, kneeling as he extended his arm out, palm up.

Tom smiled down at the young man and wrapped his left hand around the wrist presented to him. He drew his wand in a figure eight over the pale flesh, murmuring the incantation as he slid the tip over and over. Dolohov's neck strained, jaw clenching as he groaned in pain. Despite the deep burn Tom knew he felt, the sixth-year student remained still, only balling his fingers into a tight fist as something twisted and bubbled beneath his skin. It was as though the Mark were bleeding out of him to form there, blackening his skin. By the time it was over, sweat had broken out across the youth's brow.

"Welcome to the Death Eaters, Antonin."