Donal had been wrong; she was foolish. Over the years (nearly two decades) since she'd seen Tom Riddle, she thought she'd changed. She wasn't taller or more beautiful or confident. She wasn't terribly accomplished. All she had to her name, considering Albus owned the home where lived, was an ancient cat and her little belongings.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she had changed, though not in the ways she'd have liked. She kept her hair short, chopped above her shoulders so it wouldn't get in the way of her potion making. Elena was older, not quite the waifish little thing she'd been when she was younger, though she still was tempted to forgo food when she was anxious. She was still fair, her skin usually protected by the forest around her. She even had a few grey hairs among the blonde now.

Somehow when she looked at herself, all she could see was the broken girl he'd trailed after him for a time.

Elena shook her head and tried to focus. She was wearing trousers, which were far more practical when Elena went foraging. She was glad it was becoming a norm, as there was something empowering about not having to worry about flashing leg or sitting primly. A simple blouse, winter cloak. It was cold and it would be even colder where she was going.

Before apparating she reminded herself again that this was foolish. She didn't know what she hoped to accomplish; Donal was wrong about facing her fears. Facing Tom Riddle was facing the Devil, and one should only do that in Hell.

She apparated to Hogsmeade and walked slowly toward the school. Her breath was white in the cold night, like a ghost in front of her face. The stars were crisp above, the moon shining. It was a beautiful, quiet night. Elena pulled her cloak tight and paused when she reached the doors to the entrance of Hogwarts. She'd passed through those doors so many times as a student half her lifetime ago. This was her first time passing that threshold as an adult.

Her shoes made little noise on the floor and that probably was responsible for the shock on the face of the person she almost ran into as she turned a corner.

He was tall, slim, and horrifying. His features were somehow twisted, skin waxy and sallow. His eyes were red and strange. Even his scent was like something from a reptile house, musty and dangerous. That he wore unrelieved black did not help his appearance. She gaped at him in disbelief and he tilted his head with all the stiffness of a bird, inspecting her in turn.

"Elena?"

She took a step backward and one of his hands snatched a wrist to hold her there. His skin was cold. "Tom?"

His smile was predatory and stretched the skin of his mouth garishly. "Have you come to visit your hero? He's in his office. Finished with me in a matter of minutes."

She tugged at her wrist, but his grip was iron. "I should be going, actually. I have to—to feed my cat."

"Oh, no, doll." He pulled her closer. "Don't run so soon. Come and have a drink with me; some of the men are at the Hog's Head. They'll be thrilled to see you."

Elena felt as though she'd stepped into a horror novel, faced with this inhuman creature. What had Tom done to turn himself into this? "I am not coming back to you." He had released her finally.

"Is that what I said?" He bored into her with his bloodshot eyes. "Come. Visit a while. Nott is there and I'm sure you and he have much to catch up on. One drink, sweetheart, and then you can visit the old codger and go back to your dull, lonely life."

There was a challenge in those words, and she realized a part of her wanted to take it. "Alright."

Disbelief fluttered across his face before he smirked. "Excellent." He held out his arm, but Elena shook her head. "I'm not going to hurt you, love."

"You feel like a corpse. I'd rather not."

Tom laid a hand to his chest as if struck by her. "That is cruel. But as you wish." He held the door open for her, his gentlemanly actions made mockery by his awful face and the cold gleam in his red eyes. He stood as close as he could to her during their walk without actually touching her. It amused him to brush against her and see her increase the distance every time.

"What do you do now, pet?"

"I make potions," she said. "And you?"

"A little of this, a little of that. Where do you live?"

Elena ground her jaw. "In a forest."

"Doesn't that sound quaint," he drawled. As horrible as his face was, his voice was almost as she remembered it, if aged. She would have thought it aged well but there was a quality to it that was as though his tongue didn't work right in his mouth. "And you have a cat."

"Yes. His name is Otter. He's…" She thought a moment. "He's about eighteen now."

She could feel him eyeing her throughout the walk, feel his gaze stroking what little of her body he could make out with the cloak as she walked. "You've aged rather well."

"You haven't."

The cold, high laugh that was his truth rang out. "It's the price of power, sweetheart."

"I always hated that. It's not normal, you know."

"What isn't?" he asked.

"How often you use pet names. No one says them at the end of every sentence, Tom." She spat the name, knowing it would irritate him.

"I've never cared to do as others might, sweetheart.?"

They reached the pub sooner than she'd thought, the walk passing in silences only broken by Tom attempting to goad her. She was proud of herself for keeping a cool head. Tom played the gentleman again by once more holding the door, ushering her inside. As he followed, he laid a hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the little booth hidden in a corner.

Dolohov was the first to see her. He looked distinguished with the barest touch of grey at his temples, curls loose around his face. He stood, throwing a telling glance at the others, and they followed suit. "My lord," the chorused. Dolohov's eyes hadn't left her, not even as he sat back down and heard Tom laughingly inform them he would not be teaching at Hogwarts.

"Sit, pet," Tom commanded. He'd slid in beside Nott, Rosier at the innermost seat of the booth. "There's room beside Antonin. Isn't there, Ant?"

"Please," said the man himself. She glanced around the table, noting the changes to them all. Nott was frowning at her, Mulciber curious, Rosier unconcerned. Elena lowered herself into the offered place. "Would you like a drink?" Before she could answer, he had called over a serving woman. "What would you like?"

"Er, I—um. Butterbeer, I suppose."

Dolohov nodded at the woman and within a few minutes, Elena had a bottle in front of her. Dolohov was still staring.

"A little age looks good on her, doesn't it, Antonin?" Tom asked, clearly amused at the spectacle he'd orchestrated.

"Yes." He swallowed and placed a hand over hers. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," he said softly. "I hoped, but never counted on it."

Elena slid her hand out from under his. "I haven't returned, Antonin. I'm here for a drink, nothing more." His eyes were sad, but he nodded and didn't reach for her again.

"How are you?" He sounded genuine in the question.

"I'm well."

"Lonely little thing, I'm sure," Tom said. "You have been a good girl, haven't you?" He gazed pointedly at her ringless fingers. "No husband, no children."

She met his gaze evenly, emboldened suddenly. "As if you would know."

His eyes burned with sudden fury. "I would know, sweetheart. And I would make you watch while I gutted your lover. No, you've been good. Your cat is the only one to warm your bed."

"You have a cat?" Nott asked.

"Yes. He's a bit old, but he's a wonderful companion," she said. "I'll be distraught when he passes, though he's lived a good life."

Nott nodded. "Have you read anything good lately? I came across an interesting academic work recently. Arithmancy and Law. You'd like it."

"Who wrote it? I'll have to get a copy."

"Nonsense." Nott waved that away. "I'll send you my copy. I'd love to read your thoughts on it."

Elena had forgotten how effortless it was to be friends with Theodorus. He was an intelligent man and age had merely cultivated that trait. Between the two of them they could have talked until Ab shut down the pub. With Tom putting in his own opinions, Elena could almost pretend this was before he'd ever cursed her, before her date with Daniel Johnson, when she'd still felt some form of fondness for the little crew, unwilling and foolish though it was.

By the time she'd finished her butterbeer she'd agreed to exchange correspondence with Nott.

"I'll owl you tomorrow," she promised. "But it's getting late and I should go."

Tom grabbed her hand before she could stand and brushed his lips over the back of it. His tongue flicked out and she tried to pull it back to no avail. "You taste exactly as I remember. Delicious. Too bad you wouldn't agree to an evening of my attentions." He sighed and released her; Elena wiped the back of her hand against her robe in disgust. "Dolohov, walk her to the apparition point."

"I can walk myself," she said.

"I insist." Tom bared his teeth in what now passed for a smile on that horrid face. "Until next time, sweetheart."

She reluctantly took Dolohov's arm, nodded to them all, and nearly pulled the large man along out of the pub.

"You don't have to be alone," the brooding man said as they began to walk toward the edge of the village. "I haven't married."

She laughed. "I told you. I will not belong to Tom Riddle."

Antonin flinched slightly at that but didn't correct the name. "He doesn't involve himself in family matters for the most part. I think if you had stayed, he soon would have allowed you to do as you wish."

"He was killing me, Antonin." Elena shook her head, her short hair tickling against the back of her neck. "You saw how far he would take things, the cuts? Do you think he would have ever stopped?" She sighed. "I have scars all over my body. It is enough for a lifetime."

"I could take care of you."

"I don't need you to," she retorted.

"Elena." He turned her to face him and she realized that, though he was a large man and she was a small woman, she wasn't intimidated. "I have held on for so long hoping you would come back." He stroked her cheek, the other at her waist. "I regret what happened more than I can say. I know you must be lonely. Let me help."

"I am not lonely. I have people."

Jealousy and anger lit upon his face. "Oh? Do you have a lover, then?"

"Don't be silly, you heard what Tom said."

"But you have a man you love, even if you do not go to his bed." He stared down at her and read it there. "I'll tell him."

"And send a man who's guilty of nothing to his death?" She scoffed. "You think that will make me run into your arms? I hold this man at arms' length for his own sake and you would have him killed for it from spite."

His face crumbled. "I've tried to have other women, Elena. None of them last because none of them are you. I look into their faces and all I see is yours, tears streaming your face as I kiss you. Give me a chance and I will do anything, everything for you."

She allowed herself to be pulled against him, his breath skimming hotly over her mouth. "Would you?" At his nod, she smiled sadly. "Leave him. Leave Tom's Death Eaters, then." His eyes flinched. Elena sighed and shook her head. "Move on, Antonin." She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and pulled away, disappearing into the night.