Deal with the Devil

Chapter 40

Antonin was pleasantly surprised when his owl returned to him that morning with an agreement to see him in its talons. He'd been writing the girl with offers to meet for more than a month now and she had declined every single invitation until now, a last-minute request that she join him for lunch at a café in Diagon Alley. He smiled down at the parchment, folding it and tucking it away, then caught a glimpse of his reflection. No, this wouldn't do at all. He had a date.

--

By the time he sat at a small table under the café awning, he'd shaved, combed back his black curls, and changed twice in preparation. His button-down was pale blue, meant to soften his severe appearance. He knew he was an intimidating man, tall, burly, brooding. He looked exactly like the type of man who enjoyed dark pleasures, which he was. However, he had his softer side. He adored his mother, had been raised to treat women with a certain amount of curtesy (and only in the bedroom did he disregard that learning).

He ordered a crisp white wine, something good for lunch, and sipped as he waited.

Elena's pale hair caught the sunlight through the crowd as she approached, and Antonin stood, pulling out a chair for her. She was wearing a lovely blue sundress, her hair pulled back, light robe thrown over her outfit. "Good afternoon, Elena," he said, taking her hand in his. "I appreciate your agreeing to dine with me. You look lovely, as always."

"Thank you," she responded, gaze skimming over the table.

"Would you not rather take off your robe? It's a warm day." And he wouldn't mind seeing more of her, but she shook her head as she sat. "I took the liberty of ordering us wine. I hope you don't mind." Up close, he could see she was tired. With the artfully applied makeup and her hair back, she looked more mature from a distance; close-up she was the same little doll he'd known at Hogwarts.

"That's fine," Elena murmured. She was such a demure little thing, lashes downward as she stared at her glass. He filled it and sipped his own.

"Are you well?" he asked after a moment and she looked up at him at last, surprise written across her face. "I don't mean to be rude, but you seem, er, not well."

"I'm fine."

Antonin sighed, but dropped the line of questioning as someone came to take their order. Once the server was out of earshot, he said, "I've always admired you, Elena. You're a lovely young woman, well-mannered. I was glad to see you return, as I'd hoped to get to know you better. And with Lestrange engaged, I know you are safe from him in the future."

Elena had only had some of her water so far and she set down her glass with a clink at that. "Not from you though."

"You would not be in danger with me."

"That's not what I heard," she responded coolly.

Antonin studied her for a moment, took in the scar he could barely see on her chest, though one of her hands rushed to cover it as his eyes darted there. "Did Tom do that?" he said at last, chin resting on one of his hands. She chewed on her lip and he nodded. "I've healed a few of his conquests to recognize his work. I don't leave my women marked up. And my preferences in the bedroom are just that; I've no need to brutalize a lady."

The girl snorted at that, the most unladylike sound he'd ever heard from her. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Yes, actually. You'd be a partner to me, not a toy." He reached for her hand where it lay on the table, but she pulled it away. "Elena," he said, trying to put his earnestness into his tone. "I can promise you that you would be safe with me. I— I have particular tastes, yes, but I promise you I wouldn't do anything truly damaging. Should you go to someone who is less inclined to care for you, someone who is closer to Lestrange, you might not be so fortunate."

"I don't want to 'go' to anyone." Her jaw was set stubbornly as their food came out, though she managed a polite thanks to the server. "I don't intend to be Tom's pet forever, Dolohov—"

"Antonin, please."

"Yes, well. I don't want any of this." She traced patterns on the sweat from her glass. "I'm trying to find a way out."

"I doubt Tom will allow that," he informed her. "Don't forget that he has Marked all of his current followers for life. We are bound to him. He will not let you go. Let me take care of you."

"You can't keep me safe from him."

"He'll be done with you by then; he's currently just enjoying the novelty." Antonin managed to take her hand this time, thumb stroking over the back of it. He'd rarely touched her and certainly not for any length of time. Her skin was soft, the bones of her little hand delicate. There was a bruise on her wrist. "Become boring. Cry and scream and beg and give in to him. He'll find you dull sooner rather than later."

Cynicism lit in her eyes as she said, "Losing his interest may be easier said than done."

"You've been with him once already, yes? He rarely takes the same woman more than that. Another time, maybe two, and he will be done," Antonin comforted.

Her laugh was cuttingly bitter. "He's already had me three times, Antonin. He has a new game to play with me." Elena tugged at her hand, but he gripped it tighter.

"What do you mean?" She was avoiding his gaze. "Elena, tell me. I cannot help you unless you do."

She was silent, staring at something that wasn't there to see, but he waited. Finally, after a stretch of quiet punctuated only by wind, she spoke.

"Every time, he pushes further, to see how much I can take. He's never had anyone who—who reacts the way I do." Her face flushed and her voice was so soft he could hardly hear it. Antonin pulled his chair closer to hers, taking her arm at the elbow to massage her forearm. He waited and his patience paid out once more. "He enjoys the way my body responds to him, to what he does to me. He uses it against me, calling me his little masochist." Something in Antonin thrilled at that, but he kept his expression sympathetic, slow understanding dawning at Tom's new 'game.'. "He's cut me and licked my blood like some sort of monster, and it excited him when he realized I could enjoy it, that a part of me could take any measure of— of gratification in the pain. He wants me to hate myself for it but crave it all the same. He wants to destroy me, have me beg for ruin, and build me into something that is in its own way as perverse as he is." Tears had escaped despite her empty expression. "Then he'll be ready to discard me."

"Oh, lovely girl." He embraced her and she took it as she did Riddle's affections. "Sweet, breakable girl. I'll do what I can to take care of you."

Somehow that broke the dam and her quiet weeping became a deluge. She curled against his chest as she cried and he delighted in holding her, her small body wracked with sobs. Tom Riddle would cast her aside eventually and he intended to the one to catch her.