"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

━━ CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

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Defence Against the Dark Arts took place in one of the largest classrooms which Hogwarts possessed. Dried-out forms of Grindylows, skeletons of Red Caps, charts displaying werewolf transformations and various other depictions of gruesome creatures were displayed all over the walls. 

They were only taught to defend themselves against what lurked in the Western foreground, far more tame than the grotesque entities which dwelled in the hinterlands of Finland and Scandinavia. Perhaps here, it was the people that one needed to be more wary of— unlike monsters, their danger lay behind a charming smile and covert scheming. 

A similar idea seemed to have struck the mind of their professor Galatea Merrythought that morning. Inkeri entered the classroom with Adrielle, to find that the space had been recently cleared of desks and chairs, inducing a nervous chatter among the students. 

"I wonder what this is about," Inkeri said, placing her bag near the back. The Professor was an interesting woman, with a certain flare which drew a level of appeal from her students towards her lessons.

Adrielle snorted, dumping her own belongings beside Inkeri's. "This will be interesting," she droned, leaning lazily against an upturned table. "Merrythought likes to assigns duels among students sometimes."

The blonde witch's eyes widened, as her gaze roved over all the potential malicious partners she could be faced with. "So she just gives us an opening to kill each other?" Inkeri questioned anxiously.

Her roommate flashed her a serpentine smile. "Exactly," she mused, looking over vindictively at the yellow-ties with whom they shared their lesson. "Hufflepuffs make easy targets. This will be fun."

Inkeri had never seen Adrielle quite so happy as she was at the thought of brutally injuring innocent Hufflepuffs, but she didn't have the nerve to point it out. Malfoy and Lestrange approached them, and the Selwyn girl glared at the two belligerently.

"Alright?" Lestrange greeted. He looked rather pale this morning, with beads of sweat lining his forehead despite the cool air. "I hope you have refined your duelling skills, Koskinen."

"Have you?" Adrielle mocked, "You were landed in the Hospital Wing for a week last year, if memory serves."

Abraxas laughed, and Orpheus tensed slightly. "Yes, well, that was against Riddle," he said defensively. "None of you could stand a chance against him either."

Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder, the ghost of a smirk etched on his face. "Well, we certainly would have lasted longer than you did," he gibed, making the shorter boy look away with embarrassment. Abraxas' eyes fell on Inkeri, who was analysing the crowd carefully. "Is something the matter, Koskinen?"

"Where is Riddle?" She asked bluntly, turning back to face the blond. "I thought this was his favourite class." The sarcasm in her voice was evident; DADA was his least favourite of all the subjects which Tom took. 

"Miss him that much, do you?" Malfoy sneered, rolling his grey eyes. "It is none of your business, but if you must know, he is suffering from a common cold. Don't worry, it's not fatal— he will live. I'm sure he will be thrilled to know of your concern, though."

Inkeri didn't have a chance to respond to his cockiness when the Professor clapped her hands to get their attention. "Gather round everyone, gather round!" She exclaimed with juvenile excitement. Inkeri could not share in her enthusiasm.

"Over the past few week, we have explored duelling spells during our class— some, naturally, more dangerous than others. Well today I thought it would be beneficial to put some of these into practise." A low murmur rippled through the crowd like little hissing fires. 

The teacher slowly made her way through the crowd, assigning each of them a partner. "Malfoy, you shall go with Shafiq..." She decided. The two purebloods greeted one another casually, with a mutual respect. "Lestrange and McKinnon..." McKinnon looked to Orpheus with fear evident in his eyes, and a vicious smirk curled its way onto Lestrange's lips. "And finally.. ah, Selwyn and Koskinen!" 

Inkeri almost thought she saw a slight glint of fear in Adrielle dark eyes. "I think I would rather go with Flint over there... he's completely incompetent—"

"That would hardly be a challenge for you," Merrythought laughed, "Koskinen has yet to display her level of talent. It will be an exciting match!" With that, the professor moved on. 

"What, are you scared of me?" Inkeri asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. "Really, Adrielle?"

"No of course I am not," Adrielle spat hastily, drawing her wand and adopting, her nose twitching. "I will kill you, Koskinen."

Inkeri sighed. Lovely, she thought. As they waited for their turn, she began to feel a sinking sensation of nervousness pervade her thoughts, wondering whether the simple defensive skills she had learned in class would be enough to defend herself against Selwyn's virulence. 

Shafiq and Malfoy both duelled valiantly, and it was not one-sided like Inkeri had thought it would be. The girl was agile and quick-witted, dodging his spells with ease and answering with a deflection without wasting a second. But Malfoy was not in Riddle's inner circle for nothing. 

Despite his elegant mannerisms, Inkeri noticed that he used brute force to fight. The barrage of spells that he sent were simply so powerful and continuous that the small girl could not avoid them for long, and she eventually miscalculated, stepping back a moment too soon and getting caught in the bombardment, and she was slammed off the stage. He got off and helped her up, then they disappeared into the crowd. 

Now, Adrielle and Inkeri took opposite ends. Inkeri bowed her head dutifully, but Adrielle just scowled at her. Before they started, the blonde witch pocketed her wand. It was unfamiliar to her, and only curbed rather than served her. 

"Wands at the ready!" Merrythought called brightly. "Now, One—Two—Three, begin!"

Impedimenta. Inkeri sent a jinx Adrielle's way, and with a flick of her wand, the other witch deflected it. Some chatter broke out among the students; for most of them, wandless and even wordless magic was a rare sight. 

"Locomotor," Selwyn called out, and Inkeri caught the spell at the last second, just about blocking it, but she wasn't given a second to retaliate. "Diffindo!" The spell was aimed for her and she lunged out of the way, but it caught her arm, and she cried out as a deep gash ran through her jumper and skin, splattering blood onto the floor of the stage. 

"Miss Selwyn!" Merrythought exclaimed with outrage. "Now, that was quite uncalled for, remember we are not attempting to maim each other—"

"At least try, Koskinen," Adrielle drawled lazily, completely disregarding the teacher. The burning pain in her arm sparked a degree of rage in the Scandinavian witch. Adrielle was actually trying to injure her. She switched tactics, easing her mind to stop her movements from becoming sloppy. Inkeri cast the Stupefy spell and the silent attack took Adrielle by surprise, and caught her squarely in the chest with full force.

But it didn't knock her out like it should have. Instead, it just acted like a hard push, making the girl drop to her knees. When she looked up, Inkeri flinched back— Adrielle's eyes had turned an glassy black. 

"Sanguis Venenum!" Adrielle snarled, a new coarse depth to her voice. Inkeri stumbled out of the way, and the spell hit the floor, which began to sizzle and boil as though it were melting under the effects of a poison. "Vulnaspina!" Selwyn roared, and Inkeri tried to deflect the curse, but the sheer potency of it cut through her barrier, slicing her face from the corner of her eye, across her nose, to the top of her other cheekbone. 

"Selwyn, enough!" Abraxas called out, while Lestrange tried to pull Inkeri down from the stage, but the blonde witch could not digest the defeat, or the acceptance of her friend's attempts to murder her, as she pushed him away. "Reducto!" Inkeri yelled, but Adrielle deflected this with ease. 

"Acusanguis!" Adrielle lashed out, at the same time as Inkeri put up another shield with Protego. This time, the curse rebounded successfully, and the black-haired witch was flung back. Her head hit the wall with enough force to put a crack in the stone, and she fell limply to the ground. 

A single moment of silence ensued, before chaos. 

"What in the name of good grace were you two thinking!" Merrythought exploded, as a crowd  began to form around the unconscious girl. "I— never have I seen such a display of— we will be having words later, believe me— "

"Perhaps we should take her to the Hospital Wing first, professor?" Shafiq questioned the hysterical teacher. A nasty bruise was forming on her forehead, from her own defeat from Malfoy. 

"I—yes of course," Merrythought stuttered. "Pucey, Warrington, you take her to to the Hospital Wing immediately." 

Neither of the two boys seemed to want to touch Adrielle, possibly out of fear. They both muttered some excuse, such as my arm is sore and I think I have a concussion, and slinked off to the back of the group. 

"Lestrange and I will do it," Malfoy said authoritatively, and together, the two boys lifted Adrielle up. Inkeri followed them out of the classroom, slowly becoming dizzy from the blood which she was losing. 

The way to the Infirmary was not slow, as both Slytherins, particularly Lestrange, were well equipped in strength. "She invented those spells herself, I remember," Orpheus said, a timbre of admiration in his voice. "Vulnaspina, that one was to sever your spine. And the other one, Sanguis something? I'm quite sure that would have turned your blood to snake venom."

"Isn't that pleasant," Inkeri muttered, her head spinning with dizziness as the adrenaline filtered out of her system. 

They got to the Hospital Wing, and the two boys lifted Adrielle onto a bed, while the healer fretted, running to bring vials of medicine and other strange, colourful potions. 

"This is very dark magic," she said seriously. "This girl is lucky not to have died— I'll have to report this to Professor Dippet."

A sneer formed on Lestrange's lips. "How about you help her first? I think that's a more pressing issue right now." Madame Sportouch, an elderly doddering sort of lady with greying hair, looked flustered at the harshness of his words. 

"Yes young man, I'm well aware of what needs to be done," she said angrily. "Go and sit over there, and cool off, I will let you know when I'm finished." With that, she waved her wand and a curtain fell around the bed, blocking them out. 

"How rude," Orpheus muttered. 

"I am not waiting around here for someone I don't care about," Abraxas said impatiently. "I am leaving. Lestrange, you can visit her later." 

It was not a question. Inkeri wondered why he obeyed the Malfoy heir, but with one final look at Selwyn's hidden form, Orpheus left with the blond boy. 

Inkeri made to follow them, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was the healer's apprentice, a young woman with very curly, frizzy hair and a gentle smile. "You're bleeding!" She exclaimed softly. "Come, I'll fix it for you."

Inkeri sat down obligingly, as the woman gently dabbed at her wound with a wet cloth, eliciting a hiss of pain. "I'm Poppy, by the way," she said, trying tot distract Inkeri from the pain. "Poppy Pomfrey. I'm training to be a healer, hopefully at St. Mungo's. 

"Cool," Inkeri murmured, but she wasn't really interested in making conversation. Her thoughts were spinning around in circles. How had Adrielle's eyes turned that awful obsidian? Surely, that was not normal. 

Poppy ran her wand over Inkeri's face, tracing the wound, and it closed under the soft wood. She held up a mirror, and there was a slight line which now marred her face. 

"I'm so sorry about the scar," Poppy said mournfully. Inkeri looked up with surprise— she hadn't even given the mark a second thought. She could heal it easily once she was alone. "I can't get rid of it... you're still pretty though—"

Inkeri smiled, giving the healer's hand a slight squeeze. "I don't mind," she admitted, standing up. "Thank you for your help." 

She was just leaving, when she caught sight of Asha sitting by one of the beds, dozing off. Inkeri called out to her, and the Ravenclaw jolted awake, smiling brightly and rushing over to greet her. 

"What are you doing here?" Inkeri asked, frowning slightly. 

"Yelena Fawley was punched in the face by Tristan Nott's hopping teapot," Asha explained. Inkeri waited for a further explanation, but it never came. 

"Ah," Inkeri said, with a nod. "I see."

"Anyway, why are you here? Are you okay?" Asha demanded. Her eyes widened with horror, and she pulled Inkeri down to her level. "What on Earth happened to your face?"

Inkeri sighed, not feeling the need to push the gentle girl away like she would have if anyone else touched her. "Adrielle and I were duelling in class, and she tried to kill me," Inkeri explained, and shockingly, Asha's eyes got even wider, so that the golden specks dotted in the brown were more visible now.

"She would never really want to hurt you," Asha said defensively, "I am sure that she intended to do something else, but she must not have known what she was doing, she reads pretty awful books you know, and the spells in there are just..."

"Hush" Inkeri groaned. "I know that you want to see the good in her, Asha, but think about what you're saying, please."

Asha bit her lip and let go of the taller girl, who straightened. "You may be right," she said, "but it isn't her fault," she added adamantly. "She's been trying to help you since the beginning of the year, what with Riddle constantly after you—"

Inkeri looked up at the mention of Riddle's name, then instinctively cast a sweeping look around the room, as though he may be hanging on the ceiling and listening.

"—but there are some things that are just beyond her control," Asha concluded. Her eyes were pleading, as though she were begging Inkeri to forgive her and not Adrielle. 

Confusion flooded Inkeri's mind, and she did not possess the willpower to decode Asha's babbling. "Do even know what you're talking about?" Inkeri asked exasperatedly. "Look, let's discuss this later, okay? I have a class to get to." 

She walked around the other girl and left the Hospital Wing, not looking back to see if she had offended her singular friend. Inkeri would likely feel guilty later, but in that moment, she didn't want to here another word about Adrielle Selwyn. 

However, those with murderous intentions seemed to plague her, lurking in every corner of the castle, infesting it with turpitude and slowly reaching for her from all sides with skeletal fingers. Tom Riddle stood outside the Defence Against the Dark Art classroom, holding her bag. 

Inkeri froze in her tracks. Where she had gradually begun to build a wall of courage, Riddle's dagger had struck right through it, and the fragile glass had shattered, piercing her now with sharp shards of unrewarded prowess turned fear. 

Impossibly, his soul had a newfound darkness. Where it had once been akin to the seamless midnight sky, smooth and unendingly obsidian, the shadows had now turned restless, and they shifted around his soul with virulent turbulence, as though someone had upset their quiet harmony. 

He caught sight of her, and plastered on an almost amiable smile. "Koskinen," he called out. When she didn't move, he approached her. "Malfoy requested that I give this to you," he said, and she took her bag from him warily. 

"Thank you," she said curtly. She tried to leave, but he reached out at the last minute, grabbing onto her wrist. His warm skin tingled against her own freezing hand. 

"I have been meaning to ask," he said, keeping a firm grip on her hand so that she could not pull away, "How did you find the extra lesson from Slughorn? I took it you went, of course." A threat, thinly disguised, laced his words, and that familiar headstrong obstinance overwhelmed the logical part of her brain. 

"I did not go," Inkeri snapped, before she could control her tongue, "I don't take orders from you, Riddle. You can use your stupid Prefect powers to punish me however you please, I do not care."

A heartbeat passed but instead of moving back or releasing her, he took a step toward her, and although instinct screamed at her leave, she stood her ground, adamantly glaring at him. "I was just trying to help you," he said quietly, but there was an ominous undercurrent to his words. "Now you will have to pick up the consequences of your own actions." 

She ground her teeth, seething silently with rage. Inkeri knew that he was not referring to her Potions grade. "You talk a lot for someone who was supposedly incapacitated by a common cold," she sneered, savouring the look of surprise on his face. "I was informed all about your ill health."

They were close enough to hear each other's infuriated breaths, and he was almost crushing her wrist. "My ill health is none of your concern," he deadpanned, clenching his jaw. 

"Ironic," she whispered, her throat going dry as the anger slowly flushed out of her system and stopped eclipsing her judgement enough to let her see that this altercation was a mistake. "That's exactly what Abraxas said." 

The mention of the Malfoy heir seemed to shake Riddle out of his enraged trance, and he let go of her hastily, stepping away. "Congratulations on your victory in the duel, Koskinen," he said tautly and left, leaving Inkeri to wonder how the hell her knew about her fight against Adrielle.

Numbly, Inkeri made her way to Care of Magical Creatures, which was perhaps her favourite class given that it was the only one in which she excelled. 

Professor Kettleburn was by no means as exciting as Merrythought. A wispy young man with a balding head, the students often feared that he would someday be accidentally bested by his own creatures. Even the knock of a Hippogriff's tail could probably kill the frail teacher.

He was late, and Inkeri was greeted by Belladonna, who hugged her warmly and instantly began her usual routine of gossiping about miscellaneous people. Today it revolved around some Druella Rosier, who had graduated recently, and the blonde witch was intrigued by the conversation for the first time. 

"Wait a minute," Inkeri interrupted, and the Gryffindor glared at her with irritation. "Druella Rosier? Is she related to Niklaus Rosier?" 

"The Rosier Household have three children," Belladonna said as though it were common knowledge. "They detest one another, everybody knows that. Niyasia is in third year, and already a complete bitch. Druela  does not so much as acknowledge her freak brother at events— and who can blame her, really—" 

Inkeri rolled her eyes; she hadn't meant to pull the lid on Belladonna's tirade of hateful comments towards Tom Riddle's group, even if she despised them herself. She had somehow never realised that the Slytherins might have siblings... it felt too human.

Belladonna was still talking. "—but I suppose he is less infuriating than Malfoy, the nerve on that boy, a good blow to the ego, or preferably the head is what he needs. Oh and Nott, with his ridiculous infatuation—"

"Infatuation?" Inkeri blurted out, cutting off the red-head once again and earning another dirty look. "With who?" She thought back to the night at the inn, and wondered if it had anything to do with the looks he had been exchanging with Asha. 

"With me!" Belladonna exclaimed, and Inkeri stared at her, eyebrows raised with surprise. "What, you really don't know? The fool tried to ask for my hand in Third Year, and he's been at my mercy ever since. Potions, homework, anything I ask for really." 

Every new piece of information was changing Inkeri's perception of Riddle's gang, and she stared with disbelief. "Well... did you accept his 'request for your hand' then?"

"Of course not," Belladonna laughed, shaking her head with the disgust at the mere thought of it. "Me, give that pathetic creature the time of day. Maybe if he c-can f-f-finish his s-sentence." She laughed again dismissively, then losing interest, turned to converse with a few other boys from her own house.

Inkeri was slightly stunned. She never heard anyone other than Belladonna dare to talk about the Knights so disrespectfully, and the callous way in which the wine haired girl had mocked Triton's stutter almost left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Suddenly, a quaint rustling drew them all from their private conversations to fall quiet and watch with intense awe as Kettleburn emerged from the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, with a creature in tow behind him. Inkeri had never seen one quite like it. 

The beast had a skeletal body, with a snout protruding like the scythe of the Grim Reaper. Covered by a thin reptilian hide with milky white eyes and leathery black wings that somewhat resembled those of a bat or a dragon. 

"Hello everyone!" Kettleburn called out, waving his hand jovially as though he wasn't guiding a creature emerged from hellfire toward his students. "There's no need to be afraid, it's just a Thestral! Completely harmless, come on, come closer..." 

One brave Gryffindor raised her hand. "I am sorry Sir but... what is completely harmless? There's nothing there." Inkeri looked at the girl from the side of her eye confusedly. 

Kettleburn chuckled, rubbing his balding head. "Right you are, Prewett, right you are! But then again, you are quite tremendously wrong."

Belladonna rolled her eyes, pushing rudely to the forefront of the crowd. "Sir, why do you not just cut to the facts?" She snapped. "It's a Thestral, that is why you all cannot see it." Her ears had turned a deep scarlet.

"Very good," Kettleburn said interestedly. "Five points to Gryffindor. Miss Avery, could you explain to your classmates why they cannot see it?" 

Belladonna inhaled deeply. "You have to have seen a person die," she breathed. "someone who held a place in your memories. Whose death affected you in some way." For a brief second she looked almost upset, and Inkeri thought of her words as she stared at the Thestral. 

The Western omen for death. She'd seen far more horrific beasts, yet something about those haunting white, pearly eyes sent shivers down her spine as she stared into them. Belladonna nudged her. "Can you see them?" She asked casually. 

Inkeri nodded. "Who..." Belladonna began. She didn't finish, but the Slytherin knew what she wanted to ask. 

"My sister," she said, her voice barely a whisper as she thought about the death of Ilona Koskinen, a memory which she had long buried deep. Inkeri had moved on swiftly and soundly— for that was what she did. She always moved forward, not looking back at those she had left behind. 

"Ah," Belladonna said. She sounded as though she were trying to be sympathetic, but failed miserably. "How did she die?" 

Inkeri shrugged. "She was killed," she said, and that was all. In the corner of her eye, she could vaguely make out a figure above the Thestral, hanging from the tree by a rope, lace dress tattered, and flies swarming white, rotting flesh. The Thestral reared back onto its hind legs, fear evident in its colourless eyes, and for a moment, Inkeri wondered if it saw the corpse too. 

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Shadows frolicked in the obscure corners of the corridors in which sporadic beams of light could not disrupt their delicate harmony. The portraits snoozed in their archaic frames as Inkeri passed them, a tiny ball of light levitating in her hand to guide her. 

She was lurking around the hallway in the dead of night. The light witch seemed to be doing that frequently these days. She was following Tom Riddle, and Tom Riddle was always slinking about in the darkness. Hence, the lurking. The events of the day had fazed her, but not enough to distract her attention from his increasingly strange behaviour. 

He had the tip of his wand lit, and she waited for him to turn a corner before creeping down it as silently as possible, until he finally came to a halt outside what Inkeri recognised as a Muggle Studies classroom. Riddle entered it, and Inkeri watched through the restrictive view of a crack in the wooden door. 

Lestrange was already inside, standing with his head down, shaking from head to toe. A feeling of dread raised goosebumps on the back of Inkeri's neck. 

"You have failed me, and not for the first time" Tom said, his voice soft, yet deafening to the boy before him. "I would like to know why. Is your loyalty wavering, Lestrange? Is that it?" 

"N-no," Lestrange stammered. "Riddle, that is not true—"

"Do you no longer believe in our cause?" Riddle said, feigning disbelief. An almost disappointed expression was painted on his face, utterly dissimilar to the rage of yesterday. "Have I failed you, Lestrange?" 

"No!" Orpheus exclaimed, seemingly aghast at the thought. "It was a moment of weakness, I felt... guilty. I couldn't bring myself to do it— but I will not fail you again, I swear it." 

Tom paused for a moment, musing silently to himself. "Weakness," he echoed. "You felt sorry for her, is that right? For Koskinen? Did you cry, Lestrange, when you found out about the death of the mudblood?" 

No words came out of Lestrange's mouth, but this spoke volumes, and it told Riddle exactly what he wanted to hear with ready vindication. 

"I see," Tom said softly, a dark timbre creeping into his voice. "I do not blame you, Lestrange. I understand that the concept of murder is not easily digestible for all." 

Lestrange watched him with shocked eyes, widening with the false illusion that he was safe from Riddle's wrath. "It will be," he said quickly. "As I said, I won't allow my weakness to persist for much longer. My misgivings will not occur again, I will make certain of it."

A saccharine smile curled onto Riddle's lips. "Good," he said. "Give me your left arm." Lestrange hesitated, confusion twitching at his left brow. "Now," Tom hissed, and Orpheus did not waste another second. 

Riddle pushed up the boy's sleeve with his wand, then pressed the tip of the hard wood against the vein which connected blood from Lestrange's hand to his heart. Nothing seemed to be happening, until his face twisted with agony, and Inkeri noticed the black ink seeping into his olive-coloured skin. 

She grimaced as Orpheus threw his head back and let out a strangled cry of anguish, the ink continuing to contort slowly, forming a mark which Inkeri didn't recognise. It was not a rune, but rather an imprint— an evil, corrupted brand of some sort. 

Lestrange's knees gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground at Riddle's feet, who uncharacteristically, helped him up. "This is not a punishment," he said in an almost brotherly way, seizing Lestrange by the shoulders manically, while the boy looked at him with wide eyes of fear. "No, it is a blessing. You are the first to bear my Mark, the first member of a new Order. One that will rise from the ashes of Walpurgis and shake the foundations of the very world upon which we stand. You are the first to be chosen, Lestrange, it is an honour bestowed upon only the worthy."

A whimper escaped Orpheus' lips, as he struggled to nod his head. A new gleam was present in Riddle's eyes, and he teetered on the edge between zealous and deranged.

"I trust that you will cherish this opportunity," Riddle said, a warning prominent in his words. "If you fail me again, The Mark will take matters into its own hands. You'll find it is less forgiving than I. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lestrange gasped. Riddle gave one last look at the pitiful boy, who was still clutching his blemished arm and breathing raggedly, before leaving. Inkeri just about leaped away before he slammed open the door, but she was concealed by the darkness so he did not catch sight of her.

She waited for him to turn the corner before acting on an impulse. She went inside, closing the door behind her. 

The candles which provided lustreless luminosity were slowly extinguishing. Lestrange saw her instantly, but rather than anger or dismay, his eyes lit up with hope. 

"Koskinen," he rasped, swallowing his words. "Please, you have to help me."

Inkeri stepped forward tentatively, but still remained out of his reach. "How?" She asked simply. 

"Dolohov, he told us all about you, and y-your magic," Lestrange said desperately. He held out his limb for her to see, and she recoiled slightly; the tattoo resembled a snake protruding from a skull, and the area around it was a raw red, as though the skin had been rubbed off leaving exposed flesh. "Just, please, alleviate this pain. Please, Koskinen, I'll do anything."

Doubt crossed her mind. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said slowly. He scowled, and she could see him grasping at straws, thinking of which words to throw at her. 

"I saved your life!" He yelled at her, but she didn't so much as flinch. "The others, they were all set to kill you but I— this is happening to me because I stopped them!"

Inkeri surveyed him calmly, although internally, she was conflicted. She detested seeing the way in which he writhed in pain, because he tried to help her. But the other part of her, which had been tormented constantly by the Slytherins for its naivety, was hardened by cynicism. They united on a primary agreement; she would help if it benefitted her. It was what they had taught her, after all. 

Riddle was not the only one who could manipulate. 

Kneeling down next to him, she watched him carefully with glistening blue eyes. Slowly, she held his arm with her own hands. "I will help you," she said coolly. "If you tell me the truth." She placed her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "Who really killed Myrtle Warren."

"You already know that," he forced out through gritted teeth. "The acromantula—"

Inkeri laughed humourlessly, before narrowing her eyes. "I do not believe that, not for a second," she hissed. "Bullshit. Tell me the truth Lestrange, or I swear that I will leave you here, to wallow in your own suffering. A girl is dead, and you are protecting her murderer? How do you even live with yourself?"

She was appealing to what little conscience he still had left, and he gulped. "Riddle," he whispered finally, hiding his face behind his hand. "It was Riddle." 

There was a pause, as she contemplated. Finally, she smiled at him. "Well, that was not so hard, was it?" She asked, trying to hide how unsettled she felt. 

The palm of her hand illuminated, and with a ghostly finger she touched the dark mark with the light in a feathery, fleeting way. Suddenly, a shadow rose like an appendage, and latched onto the glowing ray. Inkeri gasped in shock and pulled away, as the shadow snuffed out the remnants of her light. 

As it retracted back into the mark, Lestrange yelled out in pain, and she glanced back at the door, fearing that they would be caught. Her face flushed with frustration and confusion— she hadn't know this was even possible, but she was adamant not to be defeated by darkness. 

She tried again, and once again, a tendon of darkness rose from the ink. Only this time, Inkeri did not allow herself to retreat; instead, she pored more power into it. The redness around the mark began to fade, but as soon as it began to eat away at the ink, Lestrange released an ear-splitting scream. 

Inkeri jolted back, and as though it had a mind of its own, the tendril of shadow slithered snake-like up her arm, dissolving into her skin. She didn't have time to comprehend this, as Lestrange rolled back onto the floor, hair matted with sweat and red scratches from his own nails marring the backs of his hands. 

"I cannot get rid of it," she whispered frantically. "I have never seen such dark magic before, I don't know what to do—"

"Hush," he said, his voice strained as he pushed himself up onto trembling muscles. "The burning sensation is gone, so it is fine. I do not know what Riddle did, but it won't go away so easily." Lestrange looked at her for a minute. "Thank you."

"Er— no problem," she said, breathing heavily as she stood up. Not knowing what else to say, she fled the room. Her mind was racing, but not with Lestrange's plight in heed; rather, the daunting revelation that Tom Riddle had murdered Myrle Warren. 

She was hardly aware of her physical form pacing down odd corridors which led to nowhere, until a hand stuck out of the darkness and grasped her shoulder. A searing mortification shot through her, and without thinking she grabbed them by the collar and slammed them against the wall. 

"What are you doing?" Although she could not see him, she knew exactly who that voice belonged to. "Stumbling around in the dark, Koskinen? Is that really wise?"

"Clearly not, when people like you are prowling around," she growled, not letting go of the fistful of fabric. "What are you still doing here, Riddle? What do you want?"

Tom lit the end of his wand, and raised it in between them, so that they could both see each other properly. He leaned back, so casually relaxed. "Why, such hostility," he mused. "Was it not you that grabbed me? Surely, I should be the fearful one."

"I am not fearful!" Inkeri spat, pushing herself away from him. This was a lie. Like a predator, he could sense it, and he enjoyed toying with it. 

"Of course you are not," Riddle replied lazily, pushing himself off the wall and taking a few steps towards her. "You will have to tell me why you are out after curfew though. This is the second time I have caught you breaking a school rule. Not to mention the way you just attacked a Prefect."

She stared up at him incredulously, her disbelief subsiding when she noticed the smirk which played on his lips. "You are unusually aloof," she noted aloud. "Why are you in such good spirits, Tom? I didn't know you could joke."

Inkeri didn't miss the way he reeled back slightly at the sound of his first name. "Well, there is nothing worse than being predictable," he said lowly. In the darkness, he hardly tried to conceal his madness which hid from daylight, and his smile stretched thinly over bared, pristine white teeth.  

A sudden, resounding noise shook them both from their conversation. The sound of heavy footsteps, followed by a string of obscenities, approaching them from the left. 

"Nox," Riddle whispered, submerging them once again into gloom. He grabbed Inkeri's arm and pulled her into a closet, clamping a hand over her mouth when she nearly cried out in surprise. "Stay quiet," he hissed, not removing it. 

In the murkiness, Tom could just about make out her figure. They were so close that if he moved just a centimetre forward, their noses would touch. Her hair almost seemed to glow in the dark, but not just due to the radiant colour of it— it acted more like a mirror, reflecting non-existent light. Her aroma was of burning wood and pine needles, a unique combination which was unlike any Western perfume he had ever come across. 

Inkeri kept her eyes tightly shut. He killed Myrtle, she recited in her mind. Although, she wasn't certain if it was to incite precaution fuelled by fear, or to distract herself from his strong scent of sandalwood and polished oak. 

The person outside lingered, muttering to themselves, and she deduced that it had to be the school caretaker, for none of the Professors ever used such foul words. 

Finally, they left, and Riddle leaned over her to turn the handle on the door. Inkeri stumbled out first, and he followed, smoothing out his robes. A fragmented ray from the moon shone through a window. 

"You have still not told me why you are out of bed," he said calmly. She rolled her eyes; she'd almost forgotten how Riddle never let anything slip. 

"I was trying to find a murderer," she admitted darkly, looking at him in the eye. His gaze hardened. 

"Did you find one?" He asked ominously, and she surveyed him with some dubiety before answering. 

"Yes," Inkeri said, not looking away. "I did."

To her immense surprise, Riddle laughed. It was the first time she'd heard him do so, and it was the most genuine thing she had ever seen from him, although it lasted only a moment. "I am no murderer," he said quietly, folding his arms. "At least, not yet."

"Oh really," Inkeri demanded. "So Myrtle Warren just dropped dead of her own accord, is that right?"

Riddle shrugged. "Something exactly like that, yes," he said brusquely. He watched her scoff and shake her head with supressed anger. "I could show you what happened to Myrtle, and what killed her. If you would like."

The day just continued to intensify. So much had happened already and she did not want to add being murdered by Tom Riddle to the list. But she trusted her own magic. Now that Inkeri knew not to trust him, she wouldn't be taken by surprise if he tried to harm her again. 

Inkeri swallowed. This was probably a trap— but would Riddle be so obvious about it? "Only if you give me your wand," she decided. He hesitated for a moment, then compliantly handed her his slender, ebony wand. 

She followed him back down the winding maze of corridors, to a girls' bathroom, the one in which Myrtle had been killed. Riddle stepped inside and she followed him, fingers gripping tightly onto his wand. 

Tom stopped directly in front of one of the sinks. All of the taps were dripping incessantly, except for this one. A hissing sound came from his lips, a different, inhuman language. The rune on her arm burned, trying to make out what he was saying. Come to your master. 

A horrible grating noise resounded, like the sound of metal upon metal. The pipes burst in one of the stalls, spraying water and flooding the entire lavatory. When Inkeri turned back, she had to catch herself from keeling over in fright. 

In front of her was a giant serpent, covered by green, reptilian hide. It coiled around the entire bathroom floor, the sheer magnitude of it still emerging from a new opening which had replaced the sink. The giant snake's eyes were closed, unbeknownst to her, on Riddle's silent command. 

"What the fuck is that," Inkeri whispered, but Riddle heard her. He smiled, looking up at with pride at the creature in front of him.

"That," Riddle said, "is a Basilisk. The one that really killed Myrtle Warren."

"Why are you showing me this?" She demanded, breath hitching in her throat as she stared at the Basilisk with disgust. "Not just because I was curious, surely."

"I do not know why you are here, or what your motives are," Riddle said. "Since I cannot seem to get rid of you, or force you to disclose your intentions, I thought it necessary to demonstrate the true extent of my power. The Basilisk only responds to one person. The Heir of Salazar Slytherin."

"And who might that be?" Inkeri deigned to ask, but she knew the answer to that question already. 

Tom Riddle smiled. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Thank you so much @/V_Valeska for this incredible portrayal of Inkeri and Tom in the Lunar Forest