Antonin had opted to remain overnight as Elena found out when she and Tom joined the rest of the household for breakfast (though the only other party was Abraxas Malfoy himself).

"Lestrange decided to seek out companionship after all," he informed them when Tom glanced around the table askance. "And Theodorus left soon after."

She wore only her nightgown at Tom's insistence. While it was hardly the most revealing lingerie she now owned, she felt she may as well have been naked. Fresh cuts lined her skin, bruises, bite marks. While she'd cleaned up as best she could, Tom had forbidden her from healing anything unless she had to for work. She could feel Antonin's uncertainty as his eyes roved her form.

Elena stroked a finger over a welt on her inner arm. That one had broken the skin and she recalled the moment blood has spilled over her skin.

"Do you like my new spell, doll?" he'd teased. He'd transfigured his wand into a rattan switch and was tapping it across her skin, interspersing the light flicks with ones that would sting and burn. Her hands were stuck to the headboard, legs drawn and tied apart. When she didn't answer fast enough, he'd whipped it against the soft meat of her tricep with such alacrity that she didn't feel the pain of it until her skin parted to allow blood to the surface.

Tom had halted the beating then, sitting beside her with the transfigured wand in his lap, sliding his thumb through the blood to wipe it across her pale flesh. The red was reflected back at her in his eyes and he lowered his mouth to the wound, sucking until she bowed at the sharp pull. He looked crazed when he stood again, her blood smeared across his lips in cruel mockery of lipstick from an enthusiastic kiss. He'd taken the switch to her breasts and stomach then, deciding he wanted to taste the pain wherever his mouth might roam.

"Are you alright, lovely?" Antonin asked. She blinked and tore her eyes away from the wound.

Tom's hand settled on her thigh and she nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."

"I wonder that you weren't able to hear her screams, Antonin. She is rather loud when she comes," Tom said.

Elena blushed and tried to tune out the conversation, though she felt as though Antonin was half speaking for her benefit and half for Tom's. She had to see Dumbledore soon. Tom was going to kill her or drive her mad as he pushed the limits of what her body could endure. She hadn't wanted to get up this morning, but Tom had insisted based on the amount of blood she'd lost in the night. Elena had never seen so much of the sticky liquid before and the thought that it was all hers left her dazed as much as the loss itself.

"You can do all that to her," Abraxas said, gesturing to her body, "and she accepts it?"

"She begs for it," Tom bragged. "In the moment at least; eventually she'll come to me for it. That's when I'll know she's truly devoted."

A chill ran down her spine. That was the point at which he'd finally cast her aside, she realized. She glanced up and met Antonin's gaze, reading the same thought there. He tipped his head and she shook hers in answer. She was not there yet, hoped never to be. That he could drench a bed in her blood and still bring her to orgasm was terrifying; that he wished to go farther still…

She needed to see Dumbledore.

"How bad is it?" the wizard asked, staring at her with eyes that were not currently twinkling. Elena had told him a little, but she was ashamed of the breadth of the cruelty she'd endured. Reading her hesitation, Dumbledore offered, "I may understand better than you think, Elena."

The small woman looked up at that, questioning.

"Did you know that Grindewald and I met before our duel last year?" At her slight shake, he smiled. It was not a happy expression. It made her think of her father, all nostalgia and sorrow. "We started as kindred spirits, intelligent young men who would have passionate debates. Gellert may have loved power as much as Tom, but his… appetites… were nothing I couldn't stand against. Even as a young man, especially as a young man, I did not readily submit to others." He considered her carefully. "It wasn't love, you understand; but it was intense. I have my share of guilt and shame at what happened between us."

Reading the pain of his admission, she laid one of her small hands overtop his own.

"You don't need to tell me— but I would like to know. How bad is it?" he asked hesitantly.

Elena chewed her lip as she deliberated, then took a breath to steel herself, stripping off her robe. She had come straight to him upon Tom leaving her in her little apartment. Her sundress hid the marks on her torso, back, thighs, but what was exposed was enough.

She watched his face as he studied her, the lines on his face deepening as his focus shifted around her exposed skin. Deep furrows and bruises on her shoulders, collarbones. The welts and scars from previous cuts on her arm. She'd dropped the glamor charm on her face and revealed her swollen lower lip and a bruise under one of her eyes. There was no large stretch of skin left unmarked.

"Elena, child." His blue, blue eyes were bright as he reached out for her, holding her hand in both of his. He parted his lips to speak but couldn't seem to find the words at first. His worn, calloused hands squeezed hers. "If I'd had any idea just how— I am so sorry, Elena. We'll figure this out; I'll do something, I promise."

"He's up to something," she whispered. "Other than raising his army and gaining power."

Dumbledore was thoughtful at that. "Do you know what it is?"

"No. He doesn't talk about it, certainly not with me."

"We can find out some other way; our priority for now should be getting you away from him."

Elena sighed, staring down at their joined hands. "He'd have to agree to release me; Tom isn't the sort to just let someone go. I can't hide indefinitely, and he has followers who would be too glad to hunt me down should I go missing. And I don't want to know how much of my blood he has by now. I feel like I'm feeding a vampire, slowly letting it bleed me dry."

"We will figure out something," the man comforted.

Her free hand dug into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. She would have to give it to Tom soon, lest he discover it otherwise and punish her for it. She held it out and Dumbledore unfolded it.

The Dark Lord rises and Breaks Himself in pursuit of His desires, becoming More and living Less even as He lives through Death. His Mark is terror and His shadow is Loss, and His hands shall cover the whole of Britannia…

It began to repeat again where she'd torn the paper.

"Prophecies are rather vague, aren't they?" Dumbledore said at last. "Do you know what he desires?"

"Everything." She huffed out a bitter laugh. "He's keen on dark magic; that must be what's breaking him apart. He seems most alive when he's using it or hurting someone, exerting his power."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll think on how we can extract you from his influence. We should have something soon." He squeezed her hand again. "Please come to me should you need anything, dear girl. Healing potions, contraceptives, anything."

"No need for the latter, headmaster." Elena grimaced. "Tom is eager to supply that himself."

"Well," he said. "Well, that is something, I suppose."