Four days. That's how long Tom Riddle and his followers wouldn't let her alone. She'd wake and one of them— Nott, Dolohov, Tom— would be there. Nott would always try to feed her, would pat her back, try to engage her. Dolohov hadn't touched her since Tom's ordered kiss. He'd tried to apologize, but she didn't want to hear it. She knew Antonin hadn't had a choice, but that didn't make him enjoying it feel like any less of a betrayal.

Tom didn't force more than cuddling, kissing and groping on her; she supposed it was his way of giving her space to mourn. He was both puzzled by the depth of emotion and excited that she was a mess.

The morning of the funeral, he'd left her to get ready at her apartment with sweet sounding words that he would be there soon. Elena had nodded, then sent the downstairs' shop owl with a missive to Dumbledore, begging him to come to the funeral, to help her.

Elena was drowning. For so long she'd clung to the love she had for her father and his for her; without it, all the evils of the world spilled into her mouth, down her throat, sitting heavy in her chest and weighing her down. Everywhere she looked, there was Tom. She was trapped. She knew he was using this as a way to make her dependent on him. Make her need him. In grudging way she had come to trust Antonin, but Tom had taken that little bit of trust and shattered it to pieces. When Dolohov had left that evening, the satisfaction in Tom's eyes had been terrifying. She'd almost been surprised he refrained from taking her.

Elena realized she had been staring into space for half an hour, that she only had so much time before Tom would be back to take her to the funeral home. She padded toward her washroom, bathing without thinking of her actions other than directing her arms; they felt heavy, lined with lead. She huddled in her bath towel after, looking at her wardrobe as though it would make the decision of what to wear for her.

Something beat against the window and she turned, an owl fluttering there. Her lips turned down and she shook as she opened the window. It didn't stay though, dropping the paper on the bed and flying back out. It had a short message in familiar, flamboyant handwriting: Yes.

That was good. Or it was something, at least. She pulled out an ankle-length sundress. It was soft yellow, like the pale little spring butterflies, with touches of black lace and the outlines of flowers. She trailed a finger over the black belt at the waistline. Da had called it her Hufflepuff dress. He'd loved it, so she had worn it often when she visited.

Elena slipped it on, brushed her hair, pinned it back securely, and pulled on a robe. Then she sat on the steps outside of her apartment, hands clasped neatly in her lap.

That was how Tom found her. "Ready to go, sweetheart?" She nodded and took his arm. He'd been with her through all of the planning playing devoted beau to his heartbroken love. In a way it had been easier because he would take over when Elena fell silent. He'd accepted condolences for her while she'd stood with downcast eyes, had shaken hands, had made the arrangements she was terrified to even think of. Thus, he knew exactly where to apparate.

She let him guide her to the front row of the little funeral parlor, sitting beside her with an arm around her, his hand stroking her arm in what she thought seemed like a comforting gesture to the outside world. Elena felt it isolating. Anyone who spoke to her, wanted to shake her hand or hug her, would have to go through him first.

She barely heard the service, though she was invited to speak. Elena had shaken her head; she'd told them before that she had nothing to say. Her only request had been the one recording she'd made of him playing the violin. When it started, she took a depth breath and settled into the pew, eyes drifting closed so she could imagine him. He always wore the expression of the song. That's how she'd think of it, whether it was a sweet and romantic song that brought about dreamy sighs or a sorrowful dirge that brought tears to her eyes. This one was mostly sad, with a hint of something hopeful all the same. She loved the way his hand trembled with such precision as he sawed the bow over the strings, the deft movements of his fingers over the strings. She loved that sometimes he bit his lip the same way she did when he came to a particularly challenging or emotional part of whatever he piece he played. She'd never see any of it again. All she had was this feeble recording that captured only the sound of him, no other part.

When it ended and her eyes fluttered open, Elena realized she was crying. That was normal, she thought. She stood as people came to pay their respects to the man in the casket. There were so many healers from the hospice, some musicians who'd been friends and kept in contact. A few of Tom's minions.

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry." At that voice, the tears stopped. Elena looked up at her mother. She glanced around for Aurek before remembering he was no longer living.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

The regal woman frowned. "I'm here for you, darling. We're all each other has now."

"No. We are nothing. Leave."

"In case you've forgotten, your father and I—"

"You were nothing to him and you're less to me. I thought you'd understood that when I turned down the invitation to your husband's funeral." Elena was boiling with fury that Cassandra Vablatsky would dare come to Jack Mullens' funeral. When she'd been sent word of her stepfather's sudden passing last year, she'd let her mother know in no uncertain terms what kind of man her husband had been and that she would rather rot than pay any sort of respect to his memory.

"Elena!"

"Please leave, madam." The seer turned her haughty gaze on Tom and hesitated. "I would hate for you to have an accident like your departed husband did."

"My husband had a heart attack," she responded, failing to sound cool.

Tom smirked. "Like I told you at the time, he meddled where he should not have and payed the price."

Cassandra Vablatsky's mouth firmed, but she turned and flounced out of the funeral as though she'd developed a sudden allergy.

As they made their way out back to the cemetery, Elena puzzled over what she'd heard. "You killed Aurek?"

"I was hoping you would actually show up to the funeral. It was enjoyable anyway," he said simply.

She hummed and took her place beside the hole in the dirt that would soon be her father's resting place. She hadn't been sad when Aurek had died, didn't regret not going to the funeral. It had apparently given her more time free of Tom.

As she stood, a hint of purple caught her eyes. She turned to see Albus Dumbledore sidle beside her in a grey suit with a purple vest. It was a little odd for a funeral, but she was wearing yellow. His smile was heavy, and she gripped his weathered hand. On the other side of her, Tom Riddle became rigid. His hand tucked her closer into him, but she didn't release Dumbledore's until her father was in the earth and covered over with black soil, all the other guests slowly trickling away.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Elena," the old man intoned. "There is nothing that hurts quite like a loved one's passing."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"If that's all, Elena has been quite tired lately. I should be taking her home." Tom tugged her toward the fence, but she planted her feet. "Elena?"

"I don't want to go with you, Tom."

He stared down at her curiously. "I wasn't aware you had options."

She shrugged. "I suppose I don't have many. But I can choose not to go with you, and you can react accordingly."

"You're being ridiculous," he snapped.

"I have nothing left for you to take," she responded with a voice oddly weighted and empty. "You can continue this until I'm mad or completely broken. But honestly, it's been months. The only reason I obeyed was to keep caring for my father. He's gone, so… If you keep on like this, I'll probably kill myself.

Tom's eyes narrowed. "What kind of game is this?"

"It's not a game, Tom," said Dumbledore. "Elena has lived her whole life under the control of one abuser or the other with only her father holding her together. If he's gone, she might decide to follow him."

"Really?" The young man was seething. "You've stayed alive all this time for your father and now you're ready to just lie down? Let me kill you?"

"Yes."

He rolled his jaw and wrenched her head back to stare into her face. "You've, what? Been waiting all this time to die?"

He couldn't understand exactly what he was seeing in Elena's eyes. His were scarlet and furious; she knew only that she was resigned, placid. When she'd asked Dumbledore what might be beyond life, thinking of her father wilting away on his deathbed, he'd said he liked to imagine that it was the next great adventure. It didn't sound terrible.

"I can't just release you, Elena." When she stayed silent, he pursed his lips. "If there's every anyone you love again, I could use them against you, do you understand?" She nodded. He was considering something; she could see the thoughts whirring behind his eyes. "You're still mine. Even if I allow you to leave for now. What would you do?"

"I don't know," she said simply.

His red eyes glanced back to Dumbledore before settling on her once more. "Swear to me that you will not work with him against me."

Elena blinked. "What?"

"If you give me your oath you will not work with Dumbledore to bring me down, I will release you."

She made to turn to the older man, but Tom's fist was still in her hair. "It's alright, Elena," she heard from behind her.

Slowly she reached into her robes and drew out her wand. "I sweat on my wand and my magic that I will not work with Albus Dumbledore to destroy you." A faint something fluttered through the air and she tucked her wand away.

Tom's eyes still bored into her. "You will take no husband, have no children. Not unless you come back to me. I will have my men track down any child you birth or any man you tie yourself to and murder them in front of you before dragging you back. And then I will give you to the cruelest among them to do as they wish. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." He flung her away from him and disapparated before she hit the ground.

Albus Dumbledore held her as she sobbed beside her father's grave.