"But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me."

━━ CIRCE

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Inkeri looked at the sky from where she stood in the Astronomy tower. Stars shone in the vast expanse of the heavens, as though god's most celestial thoughts were glowing in their divinity. A silver-white half-moon was hidden behind the clouds, casting a blue glow in the tower.

"There is Regulus," Asha said dreamily, pointing at the brightest star in the Leo constellation. "And Sirius, the binary star in Canis Major." The Slytherin witch wished silently that someday, somebody would speak so fondly of her as Asha did of the stars.

"Very good, Miss Lohiya," said their professor. Inkeri blinked. She'd almost forgotten they were part of a lesson. The group was small; only about six of them. "Five points to Ravenclaw. Anyone else?"

"The constellation of Cassiopeia," came a suave voice, and the blonde witch tried not to roll her eyes as Orpheus Lestrange emerged from the shadows, his swagger, as ever, undeterred. "One of the forty-eight detailed by the Greek astronomer Ptolemy."

"Ah, yes," Professor Sto said raptly, tapping her fingers on the windowsill. For a woman teaching such an abstract subject, she seemed wholly too tangible— stout, with short black hair, plain clothes, and a sharp gaze. "Would someone like to tell us what makes Cassiopeia so special? Miss Koskinen, perhaps?"

As attention fell on her, Inkeri stepped out from the radiance of the moon, afraid that it may give her away. "It's part of the story of Perseus and Andromeda," Inkeri said, keeping her eyes off Lestrange, who was watching her intently.

"Very good," Sto agreed. "Miss Lohiya, explain the story to us?"

"Cassiopeia was the mother of Andromeda," Asha sighed. "And because of her boasting that she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, the Nereids, she was forced by the god Poseidon to sacrifice her daughter to the sea monster Cetus."

"What's the relevance of a myth?" Lestrange scoffed, straightening his tie. His voice was hushed, and fell upon only Inkeri's elfish ears.

"Mythology is not always false," the girl hummed. If anyone knew that, it was her.

"Not false, irrelevant," he corrected boredly, though he kept his posture straight, and one could be fooled into thinking he was paying undivided attention. "I see you have rather a knack for Astronomy. At least, more than for Potions."

She scowled and folded her arms, half tempted to push him off the tower and relish the screams as he fell. "Why are you here, anyway? Since you think it's such a waste of time."

"It's the only branch of Divination which I can tolerate," he said stiffly. Even though he was conversing with her, his hand was still scribbling down every word the professor said with perfect precision, his quill not stopping once.

Rolling her eyes but not arguing, Inkeri dared to look away from Lestrange to once again gaze at the twinkling stars which shone above the castle, far from the city and unhindered by light pollution. She hadn't forgotten to be wary; only one night had passed since the encounter with Dolohov, and she'd been skirting around Riddle's gang successfully until then.

The class ended when the clock struck one in the morning, and Inkeri descended the stairs, hastily stuffing star charts into her bag, not even waiting for Asha, who had stayed back to talk to Sto.

"Allow me," Lestrange said, and before she could inquire what he meant, he took her bag from her and slung it across his own shoulder.

"Thank you," she murmured, though slightly embarrassed.

"My pleasure," he mused, but she forced herself to see past the flattery. She could see the way his eyebrow raised mockingly, and noted the tautness of his voice.

"You're so chivalrous," she said, "a common characteristic of English boys, or is it just you?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lestrange straighten. "It comes as a result of being raised among the most prestigious of households in the country," he said, with a hint of bitterness. "Liberty is the price we pay for wealth and glory. A meticulous upbringing, unyielding discipline, it all has a tendency to mould you into the perfect gentleman."

"Liberty is the price you pay," Inkeri wondered aloud, as she pushed open the door that lead to the dungeons. "It seems like an unfair trade to me. I wouldn't take the offer."

Orpheus let out a surprised laugh. "Far from it," he said, though his voice had become more distant. He wore his agonizing childhood with dignity, but she could sense the weariness radiating from him.

"What about you?" He asked suddenly. She was taken aback by the sudden sharpness of his tone, and was about to retort with some fictitious story when they heard steps behind them. The witch backed silently out of view.

"Lestrange," Riddle said icily. Inkeri couldn't see his face as the doorframe blocked her view of him, but she noticed his badge was pinned on his robes again; he had just returned from Prefect patrols. "Why are you alone on the middle of the steps at this hour? Wasting time with another useless girl? I thought I told you to—"

Orpheus yanked the girl out of the shadows violently by the wrist, so that she was now standing before Riddle beside him. She felt her hands begin to tremble, so she pulled down her sleeves to cover them.

"Ah," Riddle said silkily, his demeanour changing completely. The small stairway had no candles lighting it, just a crack in the upstairs door illuminated the boy like a spotlight. He gestured with his hand for them to keep walking. "Please, continue."

"Well, I was just asking where Miss Koskinen went to school, prior to Hogwarts," Lestrange said casually. He opened the portrait leading into their common room, graciously holding it open for her to go through.

"She went to Durmstrang," Riddle deadpanned before Inkeri could get a word in. He eyed her fragile frame. "As difficult as that is to believe."

A look of triumph dawned upon Lestrange's features as his gaze fell on Inkeri. "Is that so?" He asked innocently, though they way his lips curled into a smirk gave him away. "Because I recall you explicitly saying that you did not."

The girl's blood froze in her veins, as she saw Riddle watch her reaction with intense vigour, his face lighted green from the blazing emerald fire. The common room was deserted at the late hour, and she was completely alone with the two men

"Maybe I lied," Inkeri said, crossing her arms defensively. On the exterior she seemed confident and unapologetic, but internally she was panicking. "So what is it to you?"

"Lied," Riddle repeated, ignoring her second comment. "About what? Going to Durmstrang, or not?" She wondered which one sounded more plausible. Inkeri had always been useless at adopting a silver tongue.

The witch laughed at the irony of the situation. "Well, I don't suppose you'll believe anything I say now," she said, narrowing her eyes, "so why bother asking?"

"Because," Riddle said softly, taking a step close to her so they were now only inches apart, "I wanted to give you a chance to save yourself a bit of pain." His words registered with her a second too late, and when they did, she made the mistake of looking up at him. Into his obsidian eyes.

His pupils dilated, and he threw full force of his magic into entering her mind. He saw the enforced walls, and doubled his efforts, attempting to tear away the barrier brick by brick. She stumbled backwards, but Riddle held onto her arm with a vice-like grip, his freezing hand sending icy chills through the fabric of her shirt.

"Stop," she cried out, hands going to her head and gripping her temples in anguish. The pain was strange, as though it were not present, but rather the ghost of it was haunting her, prodding her mind with a sword which would dissipate into mist when she tried to locate the source.

It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself from letting her magic incinerate Tom Riddle alive and disintegrate him into mere stardust.

Then, in less than a second, he stepped back, and the exertion on her mind was removed. His face was a mask of pure frustration and rage, and the rune Ora had carved into her arm burned painfully as it protected her sanctuary.

Her trembling knees gave out beneath her, and she would have collapsed on the floor if Lestrange had not rushed to help her up. The small mercy confused her, as he wrapped his arms around Inkeri's shoulders to keep her upright.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced when Riddle raised his hand. The light witch and dark wizard regarded each other, hatred smouldering in the air.

Inkeri straightened, shrugging the muscular boy off. "Are you finished?" She asked, trying to sound snarky but her voice wavering. "Because, as rude as that was, I'd like to leave now."

Neither of them said anything. Lestrange watched Riddle, and Riddle watched Inkeri, so she retrieved her bag from the ground and left silently.

When she was out of their sight but not out of earshot, she waited for a few minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of their conversation. This proved futile; Riddle was smarter than that, and spoke to his companion in hushed tones.

It was only when she heard heavy footsteps starting up the stairs that she fled to the safety of her dormitory.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

If Inkeri Koskinen had any redeeming qualities, it was her patience. Though on the surface that seemed quite the paradox when paired with her recklessness, the two things were really quite irrelevant to each other.

The migraine which racked her head with pain and the bruises on her upper arm in the shape of a hand had her yearning for revenge. A newfound thirst for Tom Riddle's blood had blossomed, bringing with it some degree of alarm at the foreign sensation.

Abraxas came and sat down beside her, while Rosier and Dolohov took their seats opposite her. Inkeri fixed her gaze on Vladimir, who only raised uninterested eyes when he caught her staring. They watched each other for a singular second, before he averted his gaze with an irritated eye roll.

Malfoy watched them both with a raised eyebrow. "Is something the matter?" He drawled, amusement sparkling in his cold eyes.

"No," she muttered, avoiding all of their gazes. She assumed from their indifference that Dolohov had kept what he'd seen to himself, and small yet naïve warmth fuelled by relief bloomed in her chest.

The blond opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as Rosier pulled out a large leatherbound book and dumped it with a loud thud onto the table, ignoring all the dirty looks he received. He opened it up to a bookmarked page, where every inch of empty space had been filled with his messy annotations.

"Anyway," Malfoy said, scowling at the rude interruption, "We are going out to Hogsmeade today at noon, for a drink at the Three Broomsticks— "

"Not me though," Niklaus said, not looking up from his book. Dolohov, as always, was in his own time continuum, fiddling absent-mindedly with his pocket-knife. "I cannot drink, because—"

"Shut up," Abraxas said briskly, and Rosier faltered. They glared at each other, the dark haired boy's heated glare against the Malfoy heir's cold stare.

Brown eyes pulled away first, going back to reading though evidently distraught, and Malfoy turned back to Inkeri, triumph etched across his face. "As I have been trying to say, it would be wonderful if you were to join us."

Now this, she had not been expecting. Inkeri's thoughts were sent into orbit, as paranoia pulled them into spirals like a gravitational force. Above all however, she felt slightly enraged at his audacity to display such courteousness after Riddle's malevolent stance.

"I'd rather not," she said, as politely as possible through gritted teeth. Malfoy's forced smile fell, and his expression morphed into one of irritation.

"Riddle himself has insisted you come," he said, his voice dripping with falsity.

"Well tell him that I said no," she snapped, folding her arms petulantly. "You may follow that boy around like lost puppies, but do not be surprised that I won't."

Niklaus smirked slightly, but for Abraxas, Inkeri seemed to have toed the ultimate barrier of his patience, and the blond boy lost any shred of composure. Drawing his wand with a face red from rage, he opened his mouth to utter a spell that would most likely blow her to smithereens, when his wand flew swiftly out of hand.

When the shock wore off, he turned enraged, to face the person who had disarmed him.

Belladonna Avery pocketed her own wand smugly, a taunting smile playing on her cherry-coloured lips. "Fighting girls now, Malfoy?" She asked in a customary, sickly sweet voice. "My, you have stooped low."

Within a heartbeat, Malfoy was standing toe-to-toe with the crimson-clad Gryffindor. Belladonna was tall, and her heeled boots elevated her enough that he couldn't intimidate the girl by towering over her in the way that he did to most.

"You have a tendency to get involved in things which do not concern you," Malfoy snarled. "This is my first and final warning; return my wand, Avery."

Belladonna narrowed her eyes at Malfoy, turning his own wand to jab it carelessly at his chest. "We are both well aware that you amount to nothing against me, Abraxas."

Malfoy's expression could have cut stone, as the fine threads of contempt had woven their way permanently onto his features. "Riddle will be hearing about this," he warned, taking a step back, "and he does not look kindly upon his enemies."

"Oh yes, I forgot you all rely on him to solve your issues," she quipped, rolling her eyes aggressively as she threw the wand down onto the floor at Malfoy's feet, where it clattered loudly as wood hit marble. It felt as though the entire Great Hall had gone silent, watching with bated breath how Tom Riddle's right-hand man would react to the disrespect.

Abraxas froze, and Inkeri knew that Belladonna had gone too far, so she tried to diffuse the tension by pushing aside her dignity and retrieving the wand for him. Though she didn't quite like the girl, Inkeri felt an obligatory loyalty towards Belladonna, who had now saved her on two occasions.

"We should leave, now," Inkeri decided, quickly going to grab her bag off the floor, but withdrawing when Orpheus Lestrange put his heavily booted foot on the strap, pinning it to the ground, having just entered the Great Hall.

"Leave? Already?" Lestrange mused, "Why the rush?" His eyes fell on Belladonna, and his lips twisted into a sneer of displeasure. Nott was by his side, the potioneer seeming as exhausted as he usually did. When his inspection landed on the Gryffindor, however, his reaction was vastly different, although it was impossible to pinpoint the exact emotions which passed in the hazed amalgam across his face.

"Koskinen is being as stubborn as a mule," Malfoy complained, falling back onto the bench with such force that his overfilled silver goblet spilled drops of orange juice onto the pristine ivory tablecloth. "She is refusing to accompany us on an outing."

She found his obstinance fascinating, considering he did not even like her. It reminded her vaguely of a wealthy, spoiled brat, who was far too accustomed to getting what they wanted. Although, the title summed up the Malfoy heir perfectly.

"Well I cannot go anywhere anyway," Nott said raucously, checking his slender wrist watch. "Niklaus, Tom and I have advanced potions tonight, because Slughorn has an obsession with arranging congregations only at the most ungodly hours."

Rosier looked up from his book innocently when his name was mentioned. "I tried to tell him that," he stated matter-of-factly, "but he couldn't hear me, through his big ego."

Malfoy lunged over the table to seize Niklaus by the front of his shirt. Belladonna clapped her hands with delight, then took Inkeri's arm and moved to pull her away, but Nott stopped the blonde girl.

"You really should have accepted the invitation," he said earnestly, avoiding looking in Belladonna's direction and ignoring her loud sigh. "They mean you no harm— and I imagine you are not one to be easily victimised."

"I— will think about it," Inkeri said with honesty, before allowing the impatient Gryffindor to tug her away from the scene, where Lestrange of all people was trying— and failing— to play pacifist of the predicament.

"I hope you did not mean that," Avery commented, critically surveying the Scandinavian witch from the corner of her eye as they left the Great Hall, the clacking sound from the former's heels reverberating around the narrow corridors.

Inkeri fidgeted nervously with the hem of her robe. "Maybe I did," she murmured. "It could not hurt to give it a try."

Belladonna laughed. "That's false and you'd be a fool not to recognise it," she warned, "if you lay down with the dogs, you are going to come away with flees."

Inkeri wasn't sure whether she agreed with this; after all, it was Nott who had shown her the first glimmer of kindness in a strange and unfamiliar world.

She dared to mention the ordeal to Asha during midday, when they were outside in the gloomy Scottish weather, tending to bow-truckles following the Third Year Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Apparently Professor Beery had requested Asha to do so, and the kind-hearted girl hadn't the heart to say no. The creatures seemed to like Inkeri, as most animals tended to do.

The Ravenclaw's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh no, do not mingle with that lot," Asha said, shaking her head fervently. "They are the most malicious boys you could ever meet, and you shouldn't trust them."

Adrielle snorted. "You always were a coward," she sneered, throwing her bow-truckle harshly on the ground. "Scared of this, scared of that, it's pathetic. No wonder people don't respect you."

The Ravenclaw girl glared at her friend with a certain fierceness that Inkeri had not believed capable from the gentle girl. "There is no valour in being provocative if you agree with me," she said soundly, gently placing a creature into it box. "You were invited to join the Slug Club— but you refused, because it was swarming with them."

"I refused because Slughorn is an absolute fool, and spending prolonged time in his presence diminishes my own self-respect," Adrielle announced, finally shoving the last of the bow-truckles into its box and turning on her heel to leave. 

Asha and Inkeri followed suit at a more leisurely pace, chatting idly about the truth in her words. On the way, Inkeri saw a solitary figure standing on the bridge high above, cloaked in mist and shrouded by mystery. It surveyed the scene like a painter would his art, or a king would watch his kingdom.

And although Inkeri could not see Riddle's eyes, she knew that he was watching her.

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