The Dark Lord's Seer

Holiday

Tom didn't, as it turned out, come to collect me the next morning. Nor that afternoon, nor evening. And the next day came and went without him, and then another, and then another. 

Not that I was especially surprised by this. It made complete sense to me, and I was certain he did it deliberately to keep me off-kilter. It fit perfectly with everything I knew about him and the mind games he played: he'd promised to work my divination abilities to the bone, and now he was dropping me without so much as a word of explanation. 

Not that I'd expected him to have forgotten about me, or fooled myself for even a moment into pretending he'd decided he no longer needed my skills. I knew far better than to trick myself into thinking that. No, he'd come to collect on his own time, in classic Tom Riddle fashion, and it'd be as miserable as ever. 

The worst part of all this wasn't the uncertainty, though I certainly hated it. No, far worse was the fact that I was confined to my quarters for the duration. Again, completely intentional. He was keeping me isolated because he knew in doing so I'd be even more lonely than I already was. 

Someone, whether it was Tom himself or someone acting at his behest, had come around and sealed me into my room the night I returned from that last meeting with him. And so I spent the next several days in bed, or pacing in furious, endless circles between my bedroom and bathroom. 

He didn't starve me. Again, typical Tom. Torture with a twist: mental agony but with all the creature comforts. Food came for me at regular intervals, appearing on my bedside table in the form of neat and elegant trays. Breakfast, lunch and dinner: each always on time, each meal staying for approximately an hour or two before disappearing out of existence. 

The first two days I touched none of it, though I was extremely hungry and it took tortuous self restraint to fight against my desire to eat. This was especially difficult given my unrelenting boredom, which made the idea of breaking the monotony by eating extremely appealing. Once again I knew this was carefully thought out. Tom did everything deliberately, and he knew how to expertly induce torment at every turn. 

On day three I finally relented, though I only allowed myself breakfast, and even then I forced myself to stop after a few bites, throwing my fork across the room hatefully. 

It was late afternoon on the fourth day when I heard the light crackling, the unmistakable sound of magic in the air. I turned, eyebrows raised suspiciously. He'd already sent me my lunch, and it'd been sent back, untouched. It was too early for dinner - so what was this? I straightened up and stepped forward, watching the air twist and turn in on itself. A bright flash of white as a small envelope dropped onto the bedside table. I snatched it up and tore it open impatiently. Tom's elegant, careful script forming three short sentences:

That can't have been enough to eat.

I gritted my teeth. Bastard. And then,

I need you in my study.

Simply walk in.

I ripped the letter in half and let it fall to the floor. I'd have to go. Naturally. And immediately, lest he send someone dreadful like Rabastan to collect me. 

Stalking into my bathroom I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I thought I looked awful, though I hadn't expected anything less. Fatigued, stressed, unkempt: a woman on the edge. Which is exactly what he wanted, exactly what he'd expect to see. 

I ran the cold water from the tap and splashed some on my face and wrists, the quickest, easiest way I could think to make myself feel just a bit less dreadful. Then I ran my hands through my hair, tidying it just a fraction. 

I didn't care to actually look good, just needed to look healthy enough to hide the full extent of my internal mental anguish. I took a few precious seconds to practise fixing my face in a neutral, effortless expression. Was I passing? Perhaps barely, with only the thinnest veneer of composure. Good enough. Nodding at my reflection, I turned and walked out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and to the door. I hesitated, then tested the handle. It opened immediately.

When I arrived outside of his study, there was no one else in the corridor. But through the door I heard the muffled sound of voices. Voices, plural. He was in the middle of a meeting? He would do this, arrange a meeting and tell me to walk in anyway. I felt my stomach turn at the idea of entering the study. Exactly what was I walking into? I wavered uncertainly for a few more seconds before cursing under my breath and tugging the door open.

Approximately half a dozen Death Eaters were seated around the large, ancient table. Voices dying in their throats, they all turned their heads to me as I shut the heavy door behind me and walked forward in silence. I tried not to look at them. It was easier to pretend to be unflappable if I didn't register them. So instead, I stared directly at Tom, seated on the far end of the table. Tom, who was easy to look at because the mere sight of him fueled my rage. 

I stopped in the middle of the room, arms at my side and stared at him challengingly. He stared back at me as he addressed the rest of them brusquely, "We're done here." 

The scraping of chairs against the wooden floorboards as they rose from their seats. Otherwise, they were completely silent as they filed past me. I did in fact look at them now that they moved past, partly because I was curious but mostly because I thought it wise to keep track of who he was meeting with and how often. 

There were a few faces I recognised along with some I didn't. But I felt my breath catch when I noticed the last person in the group. Rashaad. His eyes met mine as he moved closer, and I was acutely aware of the way my body tensed ever so slightly as he passed by me. But I didn't turn to watch him leave, my attention instead returning to Tom. 

I heard the sound of the door shut behind them. He gestured to the now empty seat beside him, "Come." 

 I stared at him for a few more seconds before I stalked over and into the chair. I watched his hand tap the dark wooden tabletop idly. After a few seconds he flipped his hand over, palm upwards as his fingers wiggled in the air, a silent gesture for my hand. I obeyed, bringing my hand to meet his, our fingers interlacing. I was learning how to pick my battles, and this one wasn't worth fighting. Best to save my energy for whatever was to come.

"Miss me?"

I turned my face to his and I glared at him.

"It's ok. I know you didn't."

"Damn right I didn't."

"And did you enjoy your little holiday?"

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"I mean, naturally. Though to be completely honest, I'm rather envious. I've been so considerate giving you such a generous amount of time off. Especially lately, when I'm so unbelievably busy."

I considered his words carefully. Busy. He was always busy. So singling this out led me to believe something important was happening. Though of course I had no idea what it could be. He very intentionally kept me in the dark.

He reached his other hand across the table and began lightly stroking the top of my hand, "I need your company tonight."

I bristled at this, my spine straightening.

He laughed sharply, "No, no. Not like that. Though I love how that's where your mind goes."

I snapped back, "What for, then? A vision?"

His fingertips tracing lazy loops against my wrist, "Not tonight. I simply need your company."

He waited for me to respond, and when I didn't, he leaned over and whispered against me, "I'm throwing a party and I'm expecting visitors."

I shook my head, "No. Bring one of your eager little whores."

"I'm bringing you."

"No."

"It's not a choice. You will be there with me."

He moved to stand, pulling me upwards with him, "Someone will collect you later. Not me, I'm far too busy. Should I send Bella, perhaps? I think she's especially fond of you."

I resisted the urge to shudder, "If you'd prefer me in pieces, certainly."

He smirked, "It's a fun visual."