Deal with the Devil

Chapter 11

They were in the library. Tom was supervising his Knights as they worked on various essays. His seventh years were trading Potions essays on the virtues of crushing versus cutting to obtain juice from fruit, whereas Dolohov and Rosier, sixth years, were scrabbling through Defense books. He had attempted to draw the young Black, Alphard, into his fold, but the preteen was oddly reticent. He was sitting at another table with a pair of Gryffindors. He thought they might be the Prewitt twins.

Tom had no unfinished work, but as the others finished, they laid their papers in front of him to review. He was skimming Avery's piece; it had passed through Nott already, who had an eye for grammar. It was passable enough, though it lacked enough sources for Tom's liking. He annotated a few suggestions at the side, indicated where he would rearrange a few arguments, and set it aside. "It falls between Acceptable and Exceeds Expectations as is, Alfred; I expect it to firmly fall in the latter category once you've reviewed my suggestions and changed it accordingly."

"Of course, Tom," said the tow-haired youth, accepting the sheaf of parchment back and beginning his revisions.

As this was their final year, Tom was preparing them all for their futures. He'd dictated where he wanted them in their last school year, starting them on their individual paths. Now, he needed to ensure strong enough NEWT scores for their placement. Moreover, he needed to ensure the younger Knights had direction once he graduated. He had thought of applying to teach, thus ensuring his continued influence over Hogwarts students. However, he doubted even he could convince Dippet of his fitness. Not with Albus Dumbledore speaking against him as deputy Headmaster.

He sat back in his seat and surveyed the library surrounding. Alphard and his Gryffindor friends were there; there was a table of third years, mostly Hufflepuffs and a few misfits they'd managed to befriend; and there, at the table she seemed to favor when at the library, was Elena.

"Rad," Tom called.

The brooding Lestrange looked up from his work. "Yes, Tom?"

"Who is that? The Hufflepuff talking to Vablatsky?" He gestured toward the tall, slim boy whose yellow and black tie was askew.

Rad tapped his quill against his parchment, thick, black brows pinched together. "I think he's a friend of Diggory. Jasper something or something Johnson. No one important. Just a Mud—muggleborn." His black eyes danced around them, relieved when he saw no one who would mind his slip. Tom was particular about his Knights minding their language outside of meetings.

"Hm."

Elena was smiling up at the Hufflepuff, and after a moment, the boy slid in beside her. Tom stood abruptly, making his way to the murmuring pair.

"I like tea well enough," the inconsequential boy said, fiddling with his quill. "I am a Brit, after all, but I don't get butterbeer at home, so—" He cut off abruptly as he noticed Tom standing over them. "Ah, hello, Riddle. Er, did you need something?"

His bored into the witch, whose eyes flitted between her companion and Tom, sensing his disapproval. "I'd forgotten, Dan. I asked Tom to look over something for Arithmancy for me," she said after an elongated silence.

"Right, of course." Dan, as apparently was his name, flashed a smile, bright white in his dark face. "I'll see you Saturday, though?" he asked Elena as he gathered his bag. At her nod, he smiled again. "I'll see you then. Good day, Riddle."

He ignored the Hufflepuff, silently sliding into the vacant seat.

The girl was chewing her lip, reorganizing her study materials. When it seemed she finally realized he was not going to speak first, she sighed and set aside what she was working on. "What?"

"What 'what?' I thought I was here to look at your essay." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "The one we turned in yesterday?"

Her eyes began to roll back before she remembered herself. "I didn't want to tell him that you probably wanted to see whether I'd written you a new prophecy," Elena muttered.

"As a matter of fact, that's not what I was doing." At the question flitting across her face, he continued, "I came to see what Johnson—" Tom remembered his name now— "wanted with you."

"Oh." She looked down at her hands, face flushing. "That. He asked if I'd go to Hogsmeade with him this weekend, is all."

"No," Tom said.

Elena turned to him completely, chair barking against the floor, her mouth ajar. "No? No, what?"

"No, you will not go to Hogsmeade with him."

She looked incredulous, wide eyes dancing across his neutral expression, mouth opening and closing as she got her bearings. "You can't dictate that—"

"You'll find that I can," he cut in smoothly. He leaned toward her, forearms on the table between them, locking gazes with her as his voice dropped. "I'll not have you running around with someone like him. You should keep to wizards of reputable families."

"In case you've forgotten, Riddle, my aunt was muggleborn, and my father a muggle." Her own voice, while still hushed, was the hardest he'd ever heard it. "And I am not one of your Knights for you to control—"

"No, you are most definitely not one of my Knights." He smiled, more a baring of teeth than anything else. "Hm. You're more like... a pet. My pet seer. And, if you didn't know, good owners don't let their pets sully their bloodlines." Her lips parted again, and Tom was sure the girl was furious. "Unless you are looking for an argument—and you certainly wouldn't win—you will keep your mouth shut and listen to me. Again, you should count yourself fortunate that you're a girl, and I'm of a mind to be gentle with you. Should one of my Knights act in such a manner, I would have him screaming under my wand. I'm a Dark Lord, not a schoolyard bully, and you had best remember that. Or I shall make you a lesson impossible to forget. Do not make me regret my leniency."

Elena's face was white by the end of his speech. Tom patted one of her tightly fisted hands and stood once more. "We will talk again soon." With a condescending smirk, he made his way back to his table.

His Knights were all staring down at their individual papers silently, avoiding his gaze. He had no doubt they had watched the interaction, though only a few knew of his interactions with Elena Vablatsky. None of them would dare ask, though he knew they would be passing what little information they had as soon as he was out of earshot.

Those who knew would not divulge anything without express permission.