A/N: It's been forever since my last update and I apologize profusely for this. However, I don't have time to go into the specifics. I must tell you that there is a lemon in this chapter hidden with in the blocked off part. Read it or don't read it. I don't care. However, it does further explain Tom's character through the way he has sex. Read on, and then please review. The little blue button loves you dearly.

Oh, and James will be entering in soon- or more like smashing in. Wait and see, my dears, wait and see.

Cheers and on with the show,

Hunter

Chapter 5: Undaunted Silk

When tears cese, you cover your eyes

If they knew you did this you'd be dispised

In constant fear you will attack

Up all night; won't turn my back

Dria Black was the one girl I envied when as teenager. She was pretty, rich, and sweet. And she was born into popularity. In truth, she was everything I'd always wanted to be, but never knew I could achieve. In that, I hated her.

I clung to her crowd, that group of the beautiful dumb, so completely believing that I could never be one of them. I was shy and quiet and pure of heart. I was a nice girl, but I shrouded myself in self-pity. Looking back, I wish I hadn't. Maybe then I wouldn't have been damned to the glass house in which I survive in sin.

A drunken mistake is damnation. You never realize it, otherwise it would never happen, but when you do see it, you know it's your death. At first, you run around like a school boy, haphazardly convinced that you can undo your indiscretion and knowing to the depths of your soul that you are not, cannot, be responsible. Yet as it must, the doubt will strike you, and it will strike hard and fast. "What if I never get out of this?" It's not a strong idea, but it shadows your thoughts and stings at the edges of your brain. You will take a deep, icy breath, and then it hits you, "I can get out of this if I just try hard enough. And you will try; you'll try so damn hard, but you'll never make it because it just cannot be done. Eternally, you will be stuck in a perpetual circle, just trying to get out. Just trying to get out.

By what I was told was Monday, I had forgiven Tom without speaking a single word. And perhaps he had forgiven me. I wasn't sure. I knew of darkness, and I knew of grief, but I knew nothing of amnesty. I was just a fucked up girl, looking for her prince. I supposed I had just ended up with the villain.

"Lily-Flower," an empty voice said from my open door. His voice echoed into the artificial glass room. He seemed ghostly, but a thick masquerade of anger hid him in eager naïveté. "We are to have a ball tomorrow's eve, and you are to look gorgeous."

I met Tom's empty, black gaze.

"You mean for me to attend this ball of yours, but I don't see why I should. I am of no necessity, and I'd much rather sleep."

"Nonsense,"

I tilted my head to the right and my hair pulled downward. It was a pleasant feeling of light pain, and I craved more. It made me wish to bear my colors to the world, my scarlet blood against pale, gold skin.

"Why should you not believe me?" I asked.

He raised a straight, black eyebrow, but his eyes were slowly turning red.

"Miss Evans," the Dark Lord answered, "I believe the question you should be asking is, 'why should I?' You see, your choice in this matter is inconsequential, and the likelihood of your beloved Tom, or myself, even considering your outlook is rather minimal. I believe you should do yourself a favor and close your mouth. I care not for your trivial existence, or narcissistic thoughts. Tomorrow's eve we are to celebrate your birthday, and you are to be there."

"Go away, you imbecile. My birthday is not tomorrow."

Voldemort nodded and threw his head back, visibly throwing out his arrogance for all the world to see ."I shall leave, but not without a kiss- a birthday kiss."

I laughed a low, long laugh, my eyes slightly tearing though I did not know why. I just couldn't see how Tom could forget my birthday. It was to be my twenty-third, our singular favorite number. Tom knew my birthday. I was born on the second of November; tomorrow was only the fifth of June. 'Twas not my birthday.

"I care not for your kisses, Master. Return Tom to me."

The Dark Lord complied without words, but a look of red anger crosses his straight face beforehand. Perhaps Tom had one battle. Perhaps.

"Tom," I gasped, so extraordinarily relieved at the almost pleasant exchange between myself and Lord Voldemort. He had yet to sentence me to death today, and I half expected the charcoal eyes of my lover to return to their aberrant red, and mutely kill me. However, my fantasies, no matter how unsolicited, did not come true. Instead, I focused my energy on retaining my sultry composure, if only for Tom's benefit. Alas, this did not happen. My equanimity faded with each passing heartbeat, and I threw myself into his arms as I once did so long ago with a boy so oddly like Tom; a boy who was still so very different. I was in no mood for games, and all I wanted was to give Tom my entire soul.

He did not return my passion, however. He only raised his chin proudly and said, "Good-bye, Lily-Flower; until the ball."

His hand slipped from mine, and I could feel him slipping away, slowly but so surely. I could not tell how well this bode for me, but I supposed the alterative could be no better, so I gripped onto his hand, a tear slowly rolling helplessly from my eye, and silently praying to whatever guarded all of life that he wouldn't leave me. But all good things must come to an end. He left me alone in my cold chambers until restless sleep took away my single, solitary tear.

I woke the next day with the sun in the west, beating down its heat upon my bed. And I felt cold, even in my black bed inside that house of glass.

It was late in the afternoon then; four o'clock I'd have guessed. The sky was beginning to streak itself with pinks and purples. It was so innocently beautiful in a way that eternity could never change. It made me wish I was like that, But I had bathed in sin. I swore, I drank, I fucked, and I could never get over that. I could never be any less that what I was, or any more. I was just a lonely girl, covered in blood.

All I wished for in the whole, big, wide world was a little bit of peace in the warm and welcoming dreams of my prior life. I wished to be sucked into the past from which I still wonder if I've really escaped. But I am not the girl I was, and I can no longer dream such dreams. My dreams are nightmare, and are not as they once were. Those dreams were, are, no sweeter than the harshness of my reality. So instead, I stood and stretched to face the world.

The cold against my feet, the chilling air that surrounded me, it all told me one thing: this was no world I wished to wake to. But despite my thoughts, I dressed myself in a simple silk robe, allowing it to cover my naked skin in a façade of elegance I truly did not possess. Elegance was no Gryffindor trait, and I certainly wasn't a Slytherin.

"My Lady," a boy by the door questioned, uncertainly. He held a individual sense of confidence I did not usually see within the faux glass walls of my confinement. Perhaps that was why I took notice of him. He questioned me, my name, I think, and referred to me as if I was more than a dreadfully austere, slightly irrational, extremely awkward whore. I wasn't used to that either.

"Yes," I answered with an almost curious tone voice. I wasn't about to fool myself; the boy was a Death Eater. The disciples of the Dark Lord were not to be trusted.

Oh, but how I wished they could be! I was not used to the company of boys. No doubt I had always liked them, but I had never dated a boy before, and I certainly hadn't befriended one. I had never been the type. I wished to have the boy see through my soul and fall in love with me and take me away into his castle in the clouds and be my night in shining armor forever and ever and ever.

Sadly, that could never be so.

His sleeves lifted magically, as if to avoid them from getting dirty, and he lowered his hood to reveal a boy I did not altogether like.

Lucius Malfoy.

I did not know Lucius well enough to say I hated him, as I could say of many other prominent Slytherin social figures of the day. Rather, I did not hate him at all. However, I knew the Malfoy clan more than by name, and I new that each son seemed more evil than the last. Knowing such made me uneasy.

I had never known Lucius at school. I believe he was several years below myself, and, therefore, had never crossed my path. I knew of his appearance. However, most of what I had heard of him was the run of the mill girly gossip I'd hear as I helped Narcissa and Bellatrix Black, Narci's eldest sister, wash the mass of black robes that would magically appear every night at the base of what seemed to be the washroom. Narci, as the fiancée of Lucius, made it very clear that she thought his looks were brilliant. I said nothing.

It seemed that 'brilliant' did not do him justice. He was a walking god.

I sunk back into my room, afraid of what my thoughts could bring upon.

"Lady Lily," the blonde boy said more intently into the shadows in which I now resided. "I believe the Master has ordered your awakening. He will be here as soon as he possibly can, and he orders your beauty to be made apparent for the ball."

My eyes grew wide. Had the boy no shame? 'The Master orders your beauty to be made apparent!' I could not imagine those words forming on Tom's lips.

"Leave," I ordered young Malfoy.

The boy turned, not harmed by my distaste. He remained with the elegance of a Slytherin, and exited the room. He did not speak a word for another few minutes, but I could sense his presence outside my door.

"Yes?" I called out to him. He had unnerved me, I admit.

He wasted no time in reentering. He simply said softly, but clearly, "Lady Lily, your exquisiteness is already apparent to me." With no more words he left.

And I was quite speechless.

Two cold hours passed me by, undaunted by Lucius' boldness, and cloaked the sunset with twilight. The darkness wove its magic into the air, then lay itself in me. It shivered slightly, but it was oddly peaceful.

I painted my face with shimmering beauty to shield my sins from evil, to guard the only thing I hated more than my master. I painted beauty on myself to protect the only thing I loved. Both my terrors, however, were all too transparent when I looked into the mirror.

"Hello, Lily-Flower," Tom hissed gently, his eyes sparkling with a slight glint of crimson.

"Tom," I said softly, raising a dark red eyebrow. I met his dark eyes in my reflection, and tried desperately to hide my inner battles while avoiding any argument that aspired to evade my quarters. Yet he seemed so eager to bid me on. "Tom, I believe we have a party to attend."

To that he could not dispute. Tom Riddle may have been a man of genius, but he was not quick-minded against my charms, even at the seemingly old age of fifty-four. I suppose he was blinded by his obsession with myself. I couldn't be too sure. All he did was blink, and grasp my hips with strong, open hands.
He drew me forward and pulled me against him. I could feel my silk robe untying itself against his pelvis. It crinkled upward slightly. Tom kissed me roughly above my breasts, and I tugged at the top of my robe, allowing his hands to caress them lightly. His teeth bit my neck, tugging me out of reality. All I could do was comply to his every wish.

I stroked his manhood through his robe. Oh, gods how I loved this. Oh, gods, I felt so clean. I felt so human. "Tom," I breathed."

Hush," he whispered, pushing me against the wall. My robe fell from my body.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, without choice. I moaned in his ear as he put his tongue to my breast. I could never explain that feeling! "Oh, Tom," I gasped out. He took his teeth to my nipple, gently teasing, gently twisting. "Oh, gods, Tom," I let my hands push his robe from his lean body, caring not where it landed.

I let myself slide myself against his nude form, and I could feel him getting harder beneath me until he slammed himself into my alabaster body once, twice, three times, over and over again. I acquiesced to his movements without thought. His lips met mine, and ecstasy burst within me. Tranquility rested in my stomach while oblivion endeavored to take my mind.

Tom erupted within me and warmth spread through my body. Then he pulled out, and left me panting.
His breaths were even, and I wondered idly if that was the man I just had sex with. Was it even possible?

I stood against the wall, confused and contorted in weariness.

"Dress yourself," he ordered, diverging his eyes upward. His tone was steady, and I executed his command flawlessly until a blue-black robe, that cut down deeply at the chest and slit high up my leg, pooled lightly at my feet. Yet he said nothing. All he did was take my hand and blink his eyes that hid his soul.

Slowly, he led me from my room and down a stone hall lit with emerald flame.

"Flower, you must behave tonight." He finally said. His voice, however, still rung richly with monotony.

"Is it not my birthday?" I asked with an almost sincere frown. I continued, "Am I not allowed a little freedom tonight, of all the nights?"

he gave me a sharp look, his eyes twinkling darkly. "I surely know it is not your day of birth, Lily-Flower."

I almost smiled. But Tom was not a man to lie for the pleasant melody of deceit. Or perhaps he was, but I knew Tom Riddle, and I knew he was just as mush a disciple to my master as I was. The ball, that deceitful celebration, could only mean there was to be terrible, terrible trouble.

"Tom," I said, quieting my thoughts and relaxing the look of shock that seemed to have come to silently caress my face. "I-"

"Shush, my flower," he said, lowering a single finger to my lips. "The games have yet to begin."

Yet I did not like the sound of that at all.