Deal with the Devil

Chapter 5

They were in the empty classroom. Elena sat at a chair directly in front of the professor's desk, where Tom was (naturally) seated, Dolohov standing at pseudo-attention beside the wooden structure. Tom was leaned back, his legs crossed under the dusty surface of the desk, peering at the girl as she attempted to compose herself. He twirled his long, bone-like wand between his fingers, elbow resting on the desk. His other fingers drummed on his thigh.

Elena (not Vablatsky, as he was sure she was born with a different surname) was closed in on herself, eyes downcast toward where her own little hands were clasped in her lap. Whereas she usually exuded a certain unremarkable aura; now she was, for lack of a more fitting word, sad.

She thankfully didn't cry, but her eyes were tired, heavy, and wide all at once. Her mouth had softened, shoulders slumped. It was as though she'd relinquished the mask and this was the little beyond.

The girl rubbed at the back of her neck and murmured, "I don't know what you expect from me."

"Everything."

She snorted indelicately, though even that was half-hearted. "Tall order."

"Well there, little bird, how about you start with your prophecies," he suggested, cutting to the heart of his interest in the girl.

The sheet of parchment was on the desk between them, where Dolohov had unceremoniously placed it upon entrance. Her attention flicked toward it, eyes scanning down the progressively illegible trudging letters. "That's about it, really," she said after a moment. "I've written that in my sleep half a dozen times. I didn't know what it meant..." until now went unsaid as her gaze stuttered on him and Antonin at his shoulder.

Tom stared back at her, features blank. "I'm sure. And your family circumstances?"

There was the little firespit, jaw clenching once more. "That is not your business."

"I think it is," he said with a hint of a smile. "I told you, I do not appreciate lies. Your whole persona here is a lie, and I will have the truth of it."

The lip sucked in and he could nearly see the cogs behind her eyes as she wondered what he knew and meant with those words. She was a clever girl, cleverer than she let on, but not nearly as clever as he was. "I am Cassandra Vablatsky's daughter, taken in by she and her husband. I'm a Ravenclaw here. You know about my gift—" the word was spat— "but that is all—"

"Six beans of cacao, stirred approximately thirteen seconds early. And I believe you stirred clockwise only eleven times rather than fifteen." Tom watched her face as he recited her wrongful actions earlier that day. "You were looking right at the instructions when you did so, though you'd cross-refenced a few areas beforehand. And I saw you push your seventh on the floor."

She tried to cover the flicker of panic, but he leaned across and slid his wand beneath her chin once more, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her own was in Dolohov's hand, a slim little Ash wand that the large youth had taken before Tom had allowed her away from the wall.

"I can see you forming your little lies already. Don't. I will tear the truth from you if you keep trying me." His voice was cold, pitch high, volume low. It was the voice his Knights knew meant danger. He was almost satisfied when her mouth closed again and she swallowed drily. "You've been playing at being a quiet, ordinary little mouse for too long."

Elena turned her head to the side, though the tip of the Yew wand still poked at her throat. "I didn't want anyone to notice me. I wanted to get through Hogwarts and disappear. I wanted to go home." It was at the last word that her throat and eyes burned and her eyes shone.