It was Saturday and It had been a few weeks and Elena had only gotten through about half Borgin and Burke's ledgers. Every morning she reported to her work anything she'd found the day before, did some paperwork, then headed to the shop where Tom would allow her to work whilst he touched her possessively. At some point he always pulled her away. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they snogged (rather, he snogged her, not that he seemed to mind the lack of reciprocation). He hadn't cursed her since the Cruciatus that first day, but she knew better than to think he wouldn't should Elena give him a reason.

She also exchanged letters with Theodorus. They'd met on a Sunday for tea as well, and he'd expressed his sorrow that she'd been pulled back into Tom's dark world. "I'd hoped you were gone somewhere he couldn't find you, that you'd gotten away."

"If only…"

Dolohov also wrote her, asking her to tea, to lunch, to dinner, to a social event or anything really. She kept in mind what Tom had said, though the brooding man was always so polite, never perturbed by her gentle rejections.

It was a rainy Thursday morning that she opened the door to her tiny apartment upstairs from a little shop a kind old apothecary owned to find Tom leaning against the wall with nary a hair out of place.

"What are you doing here?"

He proffered a steaming cup toward her which she found was tea with a touch of cream and sugar just as she liked it, then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. He'd broken her of turning away from his affections, so only the slightest hint of displeasure crossed her face. "I have the morning free, so I thought I'd be a gentleman and escort you to work."

"Oh." Elena took his arm and he cast an Impervius charm on them before they stepped out into the rain. "It's not a long walk, seeing as there's an apparition point right outside of work," she told him.

"You'll just have to side-along me," he said, smirking. He knew she wouldn't decline, and she knew it as well. It took only a moment for them to reach where she usually apparated from.

"It's that office," she gestured with her warm cup. When she attempted to remove herself from him, he pulled her along.

"I'd hardly be much of a gentleman if I didn't escort you all the way," he insisted. He opened the door for her, arching his brow at her reluctance. She sighed and went through.

"'Morning, Elle," the receptionist said. "Who's this?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Little, this is my friend Tom."

"Tom Riddle, pleasure," he said, and the older woman blushed like a schoolgirl.

Elena resisted the urge to roll her eyes and continued to her desk. She had In and Out trays, a pile of paperwork on her desk that was somewhere in between, and a few little odds and ends. Tom plucked the one picture frame and studied the photo of her leaning in to give a small older man a kiss on an unshaved cheek. Based on the sickly thinness and the kind, wide eyes, this was her father. As she bestowed the gesture on him, he pulled her in tight with a grin. She loved the photo; her father was so much livelier when he smiled.

She grabbed the papers in the In tray and sorted through them. Most of them were memos and could be discarded upon reading.

"Is Mullens here?" boomed Edgar from his office.

"Yes, boss," she called out. His heavy footsteps preceded his arrival, and he clapped her on the back with enthusiasm she would have found irritating had Edgar not been so likeable.

"Elle, how are you this fine morning— oh, and who's this young man?"

"Tom Riddle, sir," said the young man, extending a hand while a disarming smile graced his face. "I had the morning off, so thought it would be pleasant to escort Elena to work. We don't get to spend as much time together since we graduated."

She clenched her jaw at his whole charming schoolboy façade but didn't gainsay him.

"I didn't know you had a fella, Elle."

"It's not really—"

Tom sidled toward her and slipped an arm around her waist. "We only recently started seeing one another again. We lost touch after Hogwarts."

"What do you do, Tom?"

"I'm currently working at Borgin and Burke's; Mr. Borgin and Mr. Burke have me handling a majority of the more difficult acquisitions," he responded smoothly. "I'm a deft hand with cursed objects."

"Oho, so you're the one supervising Elle, then?" At Tom's nod, Edgar guffawed. "How fortuitous! Well, I'm glad to have been a part of bringing you two back together. Elle is such a serious girl. Say, what are you doing tomorrow evening, Tom?"

Tom shrugged awkwardly. "I'm a dull sort, I'm afraid. Probably just reading up on the latest in curse breaking and sipping brandy."

"A brandy man? After my own heart!" he put a hand on his chest to emphasize the point. "The wife and I are having a small get-together. Did Elle not tell you? Well, we didn't know she had anyone, so we didn't mention a plus one, but we'd be delighted to have you."

"Mr. Bones, I'm sure Tom" she cut in—

"—would love to, thank you," Tom said.

Edgar nodded, stroking his auburn beard. "Wonderful. We start at eight, after dinner so those with little ones can come after securing a sitter. There's a bit of drinking, chatting, but mostly we just enjoy having people over."

"I shall see you then," Tom beamed.

As Edgar cavorted away, she turned to Tom with barely controlled fury on her face. "Why would you say yes to that?"

"It's expected for a man to accompany his girl to such, doll."

"No." She shook her head, rubbing at her forehead. "Monday I'll just tell him I was sick this weekend."

"Nonsense; we'll go and enjoy ourselves." He ended the discussion there.

Surprisingly, she was enjoying herself. She'd just finished a glass of lovely red wine and was chatting with Amelia Bones, Edgar's wife. The woman was at least as brilliant as her husband, if not more, and was happy to share her knowledge with a fellow woman trying to work in law. Tom spoke here and there with others as they passed, but mostly stayed beside her, content to assist her with her networking.

"With the right tutelage, you'd be a wonderful courtroom attorney," Amelia assured her. "I don't know why you insist you'd rather stay buried under paperwork."

"I've told her the same," Tom intoned. "She doesn't listen to me." He gave a long-suffering sigh and Elena laughed at the audacity of it, giving him a soft push with the hand still holding her empty wine glass. Tom grinned, then tugged the glass from her fingers.

"I'm not comfortable with public speaking," she told Amelia. "I can hardly even order at a restaurant, let alone address a courtroom!"

"You get over that, dear," the older woman confided. "No one starts out a natural at public speaking. We all learn the hard way."

"I'm more comfortable in a supporting role."

Amelia smiled indulgently. "We grow most when we step out of our comfort."

Elena was so engrossed she hadn't realized Tom left until he reappeared at her elbow with two glasses of the red she'd so liked. She considered him suspiciously, but he held out both glasses for her to choose from, so she took one and confirmed that it was exactly what she'd had before.

"Tom's never had an issue with public speaking," she told Amelia. "I don't think anything makes him uncomfortable."

"I don't know about that, doll." He rubbed at the back of his neck and even that was alarmingly affable. "Growing up in a muggle orphanage, I was like a newborn horse when I first came into the wizarding world. I could hardly stand upright." How he effortlessly transformed from perfect society man to shy orphan was beyond her.

Amelia pressed a hand to her chest. "You poor dear. A muggle orphanage?"

He nodded. "My mother was a witch, but her family didn't approve of the man she married. She died giving birth to me at an orphanage because she knew she wouldn't survive."

Elena silenced herself by drinking the wine, watching Tom turn his charm on the other Bones of Bones, Bones and Trelawney. He was rather charismatic; even when he dropped his mask, there was something magnetic about him. He was fascinating and handsome; even as a cruel dark lord he was like a marble statue, beautiful and cold. It was unfair that he was so beautiful, his nose aristocratic and his lips soft. Wherever he went, he stood out for both his height and his beauty. Though a part of her thought he might be compelling even if he was hideous. The cadence of his voice, the power of his words, the allure of his eyes…

Elena shook her head, swallowing thickly as her pulse kicked up. When she looked back at the man, he was frowning at her. "Are you alright, love? You look flushed." He stroked the back of his hand against her cheek and she leaned into the coolness of his skin even as she blushed redder under his scrutiny.

"I'm— I'm a bit warm," she admitted, downing the rest of her wine to keep from fidgeting.

"Perhaps we should get you home." His voice was laced with concern and his dark eyes were warmer as his other hand came up to cup her face. "I hope you are not coming down with anything."

She'd never noticed how long his lashes were; she'd always just seen the monster she knew was lurking out of sight. That had nothing to do with her though. He'd cursed her twice, but that was neither here nor there.

"Elena, pet. Did you hear me?" She nodded. "I'm going to take you home, alright?"

She murmured, "Yes," and barely noticed as he gave his regrets to Amelia and asked her to let Edgar know. Tom curved an arm protectively around her and walked her to the apparition point. The cool night air felt divine on her skin, as did the comforting weight of the man beside her. He drew her into his arms, one hand at the small of her back and the other removing the band holding her hair back, combing through it to tangle in her locks. Her stomach flipped and she clung to him, taking in his crisp, clean scent as the pull of apparition hit.

When her eyes batted open, they were in Knockturn Alley. "Where-?"

"Sh, pet. Come along." Tom was still holding her, guiding her behind the shop where he worked and upstairs. He had a little apartment there, around the size of her own she thought, though it was difficult to say when she could hardly take her eyes off him. He took her cloak and laid it over the back of a chair, guiding her to sit on his lap atop it.

She settled against him with one hand pressed to his chest. His body was smooth and firm under his shirt. When had he removed his outer robes and vest? She puzzled over the strangeness of everything, how she'd never noticed so much about him, then frowned. "Tom? Did you give me something?"

"Why do you ask, sweetheart?" He tipped her chin up, thumb running over bottom lip. Her lips parted and she had the urge to suck in his thumb, but instead responded.

"I feel, hmm, different. Warm." She tugged at the collar of her blouse. Tom smiled, unbuttoning the top three buttons so she could feel the cool air of the room against her throat.

"And if I did?" he prompted, his hand dropping to knead one of her breasts through her clothes.

"Oh," she moaned. "What was it?"

He laughed. "Something to help you with those pesky morals is all. You should still know the difference between right and wrong, but you might not care." He pinched her nipples through the layers of fabric and she arched into his hand. "And the wine. Two glasses aren't much, but you're such a little thing, aren't you, pet?"

She shouldn't be doing this; she was afraid of him. Tom Riddle was a monster masquerading as a man. A striking, awful monster. But she couldn't bring herself to care as he finished unbuttoning her shirt and reached behind her to unclasp her bra, sliding both articles off. She waited for his hands to return but when they didn't, she peered up at him through her lashes. The weight in his eyes made her shudder.

"Aren't you going to…?"

The corner of his mouth ticked up, but he didn't move. "I'm not a gentle lover, pet. You understand that?"

Her heart was pounding in her throat. He wouldn't damage her; he'd made it clear he wanted her kept at a certain wellness. And his hands had felt so good. She nodded slowly, licking her lips. A low, confident laugh rumbled through him. He still hadn't touched her and looked askance at him once more.

"Show your willingness then." Her cheeks burned. She didn't know how. Tom stood with her in his arms, gently setting her on her feet and smirked. He nodded toward the door on the opposite wall. "My bed. Come." He walked past her, leaving the door open behind him.

Elena stood in front of her vanity mirror, staring at the sorrowful creature staring right back. She wished she could be stronger, but the weakness was written into her bones, etched on her skin, blazing out of her so anyone could see. It was no wonder she'd caught the eye of so many wolves; she was easy prey. Small, uncertain, frail. She'd spent the past almost year trying to build herself up and Tom Riddle had knocked her back to the start with a flick of his wrist.

Still, she hadn't completely reverted. She knew how to dress like someone with confidence now, as evidenced by her black pencil skirt and black high-collared blouse, neat hose and sensible black heels. Her hair was braided tightly in the hopes that it would be less likely to come loose should she be subjected to more torture. Her makeup was tasteful, understated, and mostly in place as a mask for her lack of control.

Over it all she threw on her traveling cloak, stalked to the fireplace, and floo'd to the shop.

Tom Riddle sat on the counter awaiting her, also dressed in unrelieved black. He surveyed her form and she could almost physically feel his eyes on her legs, hips, breasts. "You'll want to put up your hood and hold your cloak closed for a bit. I don't want to spoil your reveal." Elena nodded and stepped forward, taking his offered arm. His free hand skimmed over her waist beneath the cloak and she almost didn't realize when the tugging feeling in her core became the pull of apparition.

"A graveyard?" Elena stepped away and closed her cloak with fists on the inside. Around them were tombs and tombstones, marble angels. The white stone gleamed in the moonlight.

"It's a private place, fitting for my Death Eaters." He smirked and his fingertips stroked her cheeks before he pulled her hood forward and plunged her face into shadow. "The men should be arriving soon. It'll be nice to have the whole family together again, won't it?" He tapped the tip of her nose and backed away, checking a watch he'd hidden somewhere in his robes. As the first pop of apparition rang out, he nodded and put it away.

There was another pop and another, another. Far more than she'd expected. By the time it ended, there were nine men circling Tom, all falling to a kneel before him and all hiding their faces in their hoods.

"Rise, my Death Eaters. Rise and dispense with the hoods. We are all family here." They stood as one and lowered their hoods to reveal their faces. There was Nott, Dolohov, Rosier, Avery, Mulciber, Lestrange. She paused on Abraxas Malfoy's white hair shining like the marble in the night. He stood proudly among the other men. There were two others she didn't know.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I called this meeting as a reunion of sorts." He gestured toward her. "Our esteemed guest has been absent so long that I thought it best to have a reintroduction. Go on," he commanded.

Elena swallowed and pushed back the cloth, staring at each of the men in turn. Rad's face broke into a feral, hungry grin. Dolohov's eyes sparkled. Nott seemed… disappointed somehow. And Abraxas Malfoy frowned.

"This is Elena… Mullens. In her sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, she was a part of my coterie. While she is not a Death Eater, you may consider her mine all the same, a pet of sorts." Lestrange laughed. "She is the illegitimate daughter of Cassandra Vablatsky." Understanding dawned on Malfoy's face, as though he hadn't placed her before now. She imagined he wouldn't have.

"Where has she been, my lord?"

"Upset you missed your chance with her, Rad?" The young man looked irritated but shook his head. "She's been hiding, playing the little mouse again. No worries; she's already had a taste of the Cruciatus as a part of her penance." He turned to her. "Radcliffe here is engaged to be married to a lovely Pureblooded French witch," he confided to the girl. "Though it looks like he might have preferred you."

"Perhaps when you're finished, my lord, I could still—"

"No." Tom's voice commanded silence. "I won't pass around our little pet like a toy, nor will I undermine the authority of whomever I place her with by borrowing her out. You'll have to ask her husband for that favor, Rad."

Elena was suddenly grateful both to her makeup and the night for hiding the flush of her cheeks. She knew better than to express her indigence; fighting against Tom's wishes especially in front of his minions was a good way to wind up screaming on the ground.

"Pardon, my lord," came the gruff voice of one of the men she did not recognize. "What's this about?"

"Ah, Travers. Forgive me. As I've said, Elena here is mine. I am man with particular needs, and I intend to break her to those. As she does not share our views, this would be the best way to make sure she understands her place, albeit in a way that is enjoyable for me. Once that is done, I'll give her over to one of you to ensure she remains secure. Can't allow an asset to fall into the wrong hands, can I?"

"And what is exactly is her value?" Malfoy's cultured tones quipped, adding a delayed, "my lord?" His eyes, an indistinguishable grey in the dark, danced over her impassively. Without a Pureblood name, it seemed she wasn't worth his regard. She whipped back her cloak and straightened under his scrutiny, refusing to be cowed because she bore a muggle name.

"Does it matter, Abraxas? I say she has value, and you should take my word as law." Tom stalked behind her and she stiffened, ignoring the urge to watch him. His hands alighted on her shoulders. "However, since you asked so politely, I will indulge you. Besides, some of your brothers already know. I would hate to cause a rift between your bonds."

Abraxas nodded and murmured, "Thank you, my lord." He had grimaced at Tom's early words to him, though he still watched Elena with something like disdain.

The tall man at her back stroked his hands down her biceps. "Elena here inherited her mother's gift. Imagine my surprise when I found she had written a prophecy about yours truly." The three new Knights— no, Death Eaters— now looked over her as though she'd only just appeared. "Ah, you see now. Does that fulfill your curiosity, Abraxas? Does her value meet your expectations?"

The pale man balked at that but stammered out his agreement.

"Good." Tom pulled her to lean against him and she could almost hear the mocking smile on his face as he said, "You're not yet engaged, are you, Brax?" The man sputtered, eyes bulging in disbelief. Tom chuckled. "Calm down. I'd rather hand her over to someone who appreciates her. Besides, I know you'd rather die childless than sully your line with a halfblood. Now, onto business. Rosier, Dolohov, how goes the recruiting?"

"Excellent, my lord," said Dolohov, tearing his eyes off the girl at last. "We have several prospects among the younger ones already. Rowle is an especially good candidate— you'll remember him, he was a new Prefect under you." At Tom's nod, he continued. "He would be ideal to keep recruiting once Ev and I have graduated. Younger students trust him."

One of Tom's hands lifted from her as he tapped his chin, considering. "Bring him to the next meeting. If you're considering him as your replacement at Hogwarts, it's time he moved to the next level."

"As you wish, my lord."

"Corbin, tell me of your efforts at the Ministry."

"My lord, I have spoken with many of the older families, ones who are displeased, especially since Grindewald's fall by Dumbledore's hand. The Ministry has been cutting down on anything that smacks of prejudice against muggles," he sneered, "and thus, against mudbloods and their ilk. Many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are suffering as a result. I am certain that within the next few months I can secure the houses Rookwood and Macnair."

"Excellent. Gentlemen, the slow rise in our numbers is evidence of our elite status. Within the next few years, I expect we will number in the dozens; within a decade, in the hundreds. While most will not bear my mark, that being reserved only for those such as yourself, the inner circle, we will soon enough have strong enough numbers to begin our true purpose. What you are doing extends beyond keeping bloodlines pure or preserving tradition; you are ensuring the very survival of the wizarding race. You are the officers in this war, for it is indeed a war we are waging, whether our enemies are yet aware or not. As always, I appreciate your fortitude." By the end, they were all gaping at him with something akin to awe, even Abraxas Malfoy. If nothing else, Tom Riddle knew how to speak to people's desires. "You are dismissed. Good evening to you all."

Abraxas, the yet-unnamed Death Eater, Mulciber, and the man Tom had called Corbin all disapparated immediately upon bidding their lord goodnight. Avery looked to Nott before going as well, Rosier with a bow as well. Nott, Lestrange and Dolohov remained.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Tom said, surveying the three. Elena frowned.

Theodorus came forward first. "I wished to reestablish my friendship with Elena, my lord. I was just going to give her my well-wishes." At a gesture, Nott came forward and took one of her hands in his. "It is good to see you again, Elena. I'm sure we'll speak again soon."

"Yes, er, you as well, Theodorus."

"My lord," the man said with a bow before popping out of their sight.

"Dolohov, Lestrange?" Both men had been staring at her, Dolohov intently and Lestrange in a way that made her suspect she did not want to know his thoughts. At their lord's words, they glanced at one another, their old rivalry rising. Dolohov bowed his head to the senior man.

Lestrange grinned. "My lord, I know I will not be allowed certain… liberties… with Miss, er, with the girl," he said, tongue darting across his lips. "However, should you ever deign it acceptable, I would gladly assist in correcting her. It need not be sexual in nature."

Elena backed away from the man, only succeeding in pushing herself further into Tom's embrace. Somehow, she imagined torturing her would always be sexual to Lestrange regardless of whether he touched her intimately or not. She could still recall the way he'd leered down at her after using the Cruciatus. Being alone with him was something she hoped to never experience.

"I will take it into consideration," Tom said equably. "Antonin?"

"My lord," he said, gaze darting between her and Tom towering behind her. "With your permission, I would like to spend more time with Miss… Mullens. I would of course be respectful of your claim, but my intentions toward her have not changed."

At the last, he had taken her hand in his, his thumb resting on her pulse.

Tom ran his chin over the top of her head pensively. "You will not touch her, other than what is considered gentlemanly in the public sphere. Nor will you curse, hex, or otherwise bespell her. Any infraction she commits will be reported to me to handle."

The dark man nodded.

"I'll allow it." Lestrange bristled. "Now go, both of you."

They chorused, "My lord," bowed and left.

A shiver ran through her body at Lestrange's last glance. It clung to her like something tangible.

"If you weren't so disgusted with him, so fearful of dark wizards, Rad would be far less eager to sink his claws into you," he told her after a moment, his hands pulling away her cloak so he could stroke her arms through her blouse.

"It's hard not to be," she said.

He pulled her more firmly against him, one arm wrapping around her waist. "You seemed fine with Dolohov, though he holds the same interest in you."

Elena glowered into the night. She had no idea whether Tom could see her face, though she suspected that was his cheek against her hair. "Dolohov isn't nearly as unsettling as Lestrange. Lestrange looks at me as though he wants to eat me."

"Mmm. That's because he does," Tom growled, his nose brushing against her ear as he continued running his hands over her. "If you think Antonin wants to do anything less, you haven't been paying attention." At Elena's questioning head tilt, he said, "I've brought a few conquests to Antonin to see how he would handle them. He may be a perfect gentleman outside of the bedroom— or dungeon— but inside, he is every bit the monster Lestrange is."

Her heart pounded and she was sure he could feel it through where they were connected. The arm around her trekked upward, resting on the throbbing veins of her throat. "And you?" she whispered.

His chuckle rumbled through her as he planted a kiss on her temple. "Oh, pet. I'm so much worse."