"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

━━ PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

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Leaving the school over Christmas was a stark reality check for the Slytherins, who paraded around the castle like an elite clique, only to arrive at home and put around their neck the gold-plated noose of status (or eternal imperfection) fashioned by their ever displeased parents. 

Triton Nott excelled in Potions, but his father was disgruntled by his slipping Arithmancy grades. Abraxas Malfoy was a master in the art of aristocracy, but how could his parents show him off if he wasn't the top of his class? Niklaus Rosier had perfect grades, but the only thing his mother was concerned with was when he would choose a perfect, pure-blooded wife. Orpheus Lestrange's parents were eternally terrified of his rebellious nature, after how his aunt had turned out.  

At home, they were no longer the sovereign Knights of Walpurgis, but vulnerable marionettes, made to dance for amusement on command. 

For Inkeri however, the feeling was one of unmatched excitement, as she hung by the window of the train back to London, watching the velvety black blanket of night slowly fade into an evanescent purple sunrise. She was alone in her caboose with her thoughts for a short while, until Riddle and Nott showed their faces unceremoniously. 

Nott hesitated at the door, lingering slightly. He, at least, had the decency to hesitate before intruding on a woman's privacy. Riddle had no such qualms, pushing open the door and taking a seat opposite her. 

He didn't even bother to apologize, taking out a newspaper from his small trunk. "Everywhere else is full," he said, not looking up from what he was reading, as though it justified his air of entitlement. 

Inkeri narrowed her eyes, while Nott tried not to smile. "Are you going home for Christmas, or just st-staying in London?" He spoke amicably, with the expertise of a practised conversationalist. She remembered why she had once liked him. 

"I'm going home," she said tautly, and although he kept his gaze lowered, she saw Riddle perk up slightly, an indication that he was listening. 

"Back to Norway?" Triton asked interestedly. "That will be virtually impossible through m-muggle transportation given the occupation there. I im-magine you will be using a Portkey, or something like that?" 

"Something like that," Inkeri concluded. 

"Do not bother, Nott," Riddle droned. "Koskinen has a penchant for thinking her life is so interesting that it needs to be kept secret."

Inkeri scowled unappreciatively. The Slytherins were draining her exuberance by the minute. "Clearly it is more interesting than the Daily Prophet, or you wouldn't be eavesdropping on our conversation."

"You are astonishingly loud, despite this cabin being small," he said smoothly, but she could see him becoming agitated as his hands gripped the paper so tightly it crumpled around the edges. 

The witch didn't let herself become consumed by the comment. Riddle enjoyed subtly humiliating her, and she was sick of being spun in his web of taunts. If he was adamant on being cruel, she would retaliate. Although still slightly afraid of his capabilities, it was in Inkeri's nature to toe the line.

"You're in a lovely mood. Daunted by the prospect of going home?" He didn't show any signs of having heard her, so she carried on. "I'm sure your parents will be delighted to have their little ray of sunshine back to brighten their lives." 

Inkeri knew his parents were dead. 

Belladonna took great pleasure in mentioning it every time the boy was brought up— although it was a mystery how she knew. 

Riddle looked up, with such murderous intent on his face that it almost made her flinch back. "I am not going home," he said through clenched teeth. "I will be staying at the Nott Manor this Christmas."

"Why?" She mused. "Do your parents not want you home, Tom? That's surprising, given that you're quite the golden boy of Hogwarts. Your father must be so proud of you—"

His fists clenched so tightly that she was worried the taut veins would burst. "Stop your incessant babbling," he snarled, "you don't know what you are talking about."

It was fascinating, how passive he was about everything, never succumbing to her provocation, until it came to his personal life where he would immediately become aggressive. He had pointed a wand at her last time; she wondered why hadn't yet snapped now. 

Inkeri leaned forward. "You don't have to be embarrassed," she said seriously. "I told you once that your name sounded mortal. It's alright if it is."

Tom leaned forward too, so that they were eye to eye. "And I told you then what I'll tell you now," he said lowly. "It is none of your business."

Nott shifted beside them, clearing his throat at the hostility. "If I may interject—"

"Forget it, Nott," Inkeri said, leaning back with satisfaction. "Riddle has a penchant for thinking his life is so interesting that it needs to be kept secret."

That was what did it. Riddle stood in a rage, drawing his wand from the pocket of his robes, prepared to obliterate her. Inkeri stood to meet him, with an infuriatingly calm smile on her face. His mask slipped so often around her that now, she had tentatively begun to feel less unnerved whenever it did. 

As long as they were more than a dagger's blade apart, she could revel in his ire without the fear of calamity twisting her gut. 

Triton wedged himself between then, unfazed by the hostility and relatively overconfident in his belief that Tom would not curse him too. "K-Koskinen and I will find somewhere else to sit," he said hastily, pulling her trunk down for her from the overhead compartment. 

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "Do not be petulant," Nott hissed. "I can see you are trying to start a fight, and I highly ad-dvise against it."

He firmly pulled her out of the compartment, and before she could object further, Riddle waved his hand and the door slammed shut, curtains following suit. "What a bastard!" She exclaimed, kicking the door and taking pride in how loudly it echoed. 

Triton made a noise that was halfway between amusement and irritation. "I do not know what you intended to happen," he said following her as she stormed through the train. 

Inkeri was looking for Asha, but happened to find Malfoy and Rosier first, and decided it was only fair that she disturb them. When she went in, they were having a glaring contest, and almost welcomed her and Nott's presence. 

"Koskinen," Malfoy greeted, his voice, as always, dripping with sweet venom. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Riddle has colonised my compartment," she deadpanned, making Nott hide a smile behind his hand. Her gaze fell on Rosier, who had returned to his usual shell, staring hard at his book as though wishing it were Malfoy and trying to make it combust. 

Malfoy smiled thinly. Inkeri didn't miss the large purple bruise on his left temple. "So you are invading ours," he mused. "I can't say it isn't a welcome interruption. I was in quite tedious company."

"I did not force you to stay here," Rosier muttered but only so Inkeri, who was beside him, could hear. 

The snow thickened as the train sped farther South. Frost crept up the sides of the windows, and Inkeri even saw a deer, over Rosier's shoulder, hopping indolently over the fields, exposed in the blanket of white. She tapped his shoulder with asinine glee to point it out to the gloomy boy, thinking it may raise his spirits. He nodded to appease her, but was completely uninterested, going back to his book with barely a glance. 

Malfoy waved his wand and the blind fell over the window. Inkeri glared at him, and he narrowed his eyes. "I want to sleep," he complained, "it is too bright." 

She ended up playing cards with Nott. She was naturally talented at it, and eventually they ended up sprawled on the floor of the compartment, hostility forgotten, chatting casually during their fifth round and receiving glares from Rosier for being too loud. 

Enmity was difficult to keep with Triton. He naturally possessed a degree of likability which stemmed, probably, from his humility. She never thought of herself inferior in his company, as unlike the other Slytherins, he treated her as his equal. 

Suddenly, they felt the train stop, its wheels screeching to an abrupt stop and grating horribly against the metal tracks, making them lurch forward in a frenzy, bags falling out of the compartments. 

There should have been clamour and shouting from students confused and in disarray, a chaos at the very least, but nothing reached her ears. 

Goosebumps rose on the back of Inkeri's neck as a haunting silence echoed. She felt someone's hand on her head, shielding her from any other collapsing items. The temperature seemed to have dropped to below freezing.

Inkeri pulled away from Rosier and stood slowly. The lights were off, and Nott and Malfoy were already at the door with their wands drawn, waiting in anticipation. Inkeri helped Niklaus up, and Malfoy put his finger to his lips. 

"Lumos," Nott whispered, raising to the door. There was nothing there— until there was. Illuminated by the light of Nott's wand, a cloaked figure approached the door to the compartment. Inkeri held her breath. 

The second they wrenched open the compartment door, Malfoy was jabbing his wand into their throat, ready to mutter an incantation to send the to the depths of Hell. 

The figure drew back their hood, to reveal it was Riddle, and Abraxas pulled away with a look of evident relief. "Riddle," he said, "what is happening?"

"Quiet," Tom hissed. With a gesture of his head, the door closed again. "Everyone has been instructed to stay inside with the lights off," he said lowly, now drawing the blinds around the glass of their caboose. 

"Why?" Inkeri asked in a whisper. 

Riddle scowled. "It may have escaped your notice, but there are two wars ravaging England right now," he said, though his voice didn't betray any element of fear. "Nazis, or probably Grindelwald's acolytes if they breached the protective charms."

Inkeri didn't trust him. She was more willing to take her chances with whoever Nazi was than fall for what was potentially another one of Riddle's games. 

 "I'm going to check," she said, holding her wand and heading for the door, but she was stopped by Riddle's hand gripping her arm and pulling her back. "Let go."

"Don't be reckless," he hissed, eyes blazing with a strange sort of rage. "If, perchance, someone was out there you could give us all away with your idiocy."

"Don't tell me you are scared," she spat. A part of her knew he was being reasonable, but sitting idle was not in her nature. The Sorting Hat had been forced in a place of doubt to put her in Slytherin, but Inkeri possessed the essence of a Gryffindor. "You talk a lot, but a slowed train has you scared witless?"

Now, he pressed his wand against her temple, holding her arm so tightly that she feared the bone of her elbow would crumble in his grip. "One more word, Koskinen—"

"Wait!" Malfoy said suddenly, tensing as he felt the vibrations of the train. The lights flickered back on, and the whirring sound of machinery resumed as the train started up again. 

Nott immediately went to the window to pull up the blind before they could speed past the landscape. 

In the previously halcyon canvas of white landscape, a symbol now lay, made from melted snow where the grass could peek through. It twisted in an ugly way, and was so large that it encompassed the entire field; a triangle, with a line and a circle within it. 

"Strange," Riddle murmured, having forgotten his animosity temporarily as he stared with dark awe. "Would could they have wanted?"

"I don't understand," Inkeri said agitatedly. "Who? What is that?"

Riddle sighed. "That is the Deathly Hallows. Now, more commonly known as Grindelwald's mark."

｡･:*˚:✧｡

The train arrived at London as scheduled, and Inkeri was still in a state of consternation. Riddle and the other boys had refused to explain anything to her, practically locking her out of the cabin as they conversed privately about whatever had taken place. 

All of the students were intact and already forgetting about the incident, clearly used to it from years of war. Only Inkeri still dwelled on it; who was Grindelwald, and why had he left his mark on the field? 

Among the babble of children, Inkeri finally found Asha, and the Ravenclaw flung her arms around the Slytherin's neck before she could argue. Adrielle wasn't going home for Christmas; she had chosen to stay at Hogwarts, where the sadistic witch could revel in her solitude. 

"I'll miss you dearly," Asha said earnestly, "You'll write to me, won't you?"

"Of course," Inkeri lied smoothly. 

The dark-haired girl smiled earnestly, and with one last warm embrace, turned to join her brother in the throng of young wizards. Although, once they left the station, there was hardly a single mortal outside. 

Aside from the desolate and homeless figures cradling each other in the snow, London was pitifully morose. Each face which passed her was dreary and on the verge of collapse, and buildings around her had been reduced to rubble. 

Snowflakes caught on her eyelashes as she turned aimlessly through London's tumultuous streets with hardly a clue of where she was going. It didn't particularly matter; all she needed was a space of complete seclusion. 

A dozen soldiers stood, posted on one of the street ends. One of them caught sight of her and narrowed his eyes, and muttering something to the others.

Inkeri closed her eyes and tugged her hood up, quickening her pace and praying that he would avert his intense gaze. A hand enclosed suddenly on her shoulder, and she spun, ready to be bombarded with questions by a mortal soldier. 

But, luckily or unluckily, it was Riddle. "Why are you wandering around cluelessly?" He demanded sharply. "London isn't exactly safe right now, Koskinen."

Inkeri eyed him suspiciously. "Did you follow me from the station?" She asked. 

"Yes," he responded impatiently, as though that weren't of importance. "Answer my question."

"I'm trying to find somewhere that's out of mortal view," Inkeri said. She looked him up and down, and decided that if he was there then he may as well be useful. Linking her arm through his, she forced Riddle to fall into step beside her. 

He tried to pull away. "What are you doing?" Tom asked, slightly unnerved. 

"If you're so nosy about where I'm going, then just come with me," she hissed. People were less likely to look at her if she was accompanied by a man. Curiosity getting the best of him, Riddle stopped resisting. 

As they delved deeper into the city, the melancholic atmosphere only seemed to intensify. A few children ran past her, and though they were laughing, Inkeri could see only speckles of light from tattered souls, already worn out in early youth. "What happened here?" She couldn't help herself from asking.

"I cannot tell if you are purposefully naïve, or just stupid," Riddle remarked. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off swiftly. "The Blitz happened; German bombardment has razed buildings to the ground, most parents' children have been ripped away from them and sent to the countryside. People are tired." 

Tom looked at Inkeri from the side of his eye, scrutinising the way she scrunched up her face every time she saw a beggar, as though their pain caused her grievance too. A sympathetic fool, he thought to himself. 

"I hope you are not planning to use magic," he said, as realisation began to dawn on him. "It would be a shame for you to get expelled from Hogwarts."

Inkeri laughed. Asha had told her all about The Trace, and the ban on magic for underage wizards. It was a concept she was almost unwilling to believe; the ministry tracking its citizens, with authorised consent from the parents. 

"Don't be too worried on my account," she said. Of course, the British Ministry didn't know of her existence, so she was mercifully exempt from the imposing rule.

Finally, they halted at a tiny, abandoned inn, which was declared "Permanently Closed" by the sign outside. Riddle quirked a brow as she raised her wand and muttered "Alohamora."

Pushing open the robust door, they entered, and found that the inn was in decent condition, aside spare for some cobwebs and mould in the corners of the roof. 

Inkeri didn't waste a second. Without her wand, she muttered "Expelliarmus!" Riddle's own wand flew into her hand, and she used it against its owner. "Incarcerous!" 

He opened his mouth to utter a wordless curse, but jabbing his own wand into his chest, she smiled and said something which halted him immediately. 

"Using magic outside of school, Tom?" Inkeri asked in a teasing, sing-song manner. "I wouldn't advise it."

Riddle's own words rang in his mind. It would be a shame for you to get expelled from Hogwarts. 

"Clever," he said calmly. The bonds had bound him to a chair, forcing his hands to be trapped against the armrests. Riddle wasn't afraid. Unbeknownst to her, he had found a way to evade the Trace in his Fourth Year. 

Instead, he feigned defeat and watched with intrigue for whatever the witch intended to do. Amusement glinted in his vindictive eye, alongside a small hint of fascination. 

"I didn't intend for this to happen," Inkeri clarified. From her trunk, she pulled out a small parcel, packaged in brown wrapping paper. Ora had sent it to her, with explicit instructions not to open and touch it until she was out of plain sight. 

Riddle raised an eyebrows. "I find it quite flattering. Do you find me so threatening, that you feel the need to bind me to a chair, of all things?"

Yes. I am terrified of you. "I do not fear you." I am mortally afraid, of what you are destined to become. "A mediocre wizard with an inflated ego, that is all you will ever be," she snapped. 

Infuriatingly, Tom just smiled. "Alright," he said simply. He gestured to what she was holding. "Go on then, open it. I deserve to see what it is, after all of this suspense."

Inkeri was tempted not to, just to spite him, and the desire to go home was only slightly more overpowering. As soon as she unfolded it, the girl was met with a locket. It had the word Selwyn engraved on it, and Inkeri almost dropped the package in shock. 

How did Ora have possession of something with her friend's name written on it? Riddle was saying something, his tone having turned sharp, but she was too engrossed to listen to him. 

Her fingers closed around the locket, and it happened immediately: Inkeri felt as though a hook just behind her navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Her feet left the ground; she was speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour; her hand was stuck to the necklace as though it was pulling her magnetically onward and then—

Inkeri slammed into the ground, on her back. Completely disoriented and slightly in pain, she kept her eyes squeezed shut, trying to gather her thoughts and calm the almost agonizing shock which coursed through her body. 

It was the birds that drew her back to reality. They tittered gleefully, flying in a clear blue sky, not yellow from smog, the crisp air nipping at her cheeks, and the nostalgic scent of burning wood. Her mind wandered back to the birds. There were no happy birds in London.  

Blue eyes shot open immediately, as Inkeri sprang up from where she had been nestled in the soft grass. She was here. Home. Tears threatened to prick her eyes as she fought them back; the familiarity was encompassing, and almost too heavy. 

The sound a horn drew her mercifully from her thoughts, accompanied by the shouting of boys not too far from her. Carefully, Inkeri went towards the source of the noise, flinching back slightly as they grew louder and louder. 

Until, eventually, Inkeri was face-to-face with an arrow. The person behind it wore a mask; the skull of a deer, one of the antlers broken at the end. Familiar grey eyes glistened from behind the hollow bone eye sockets. 

Other boys surrounded them like vultures. They also wore masks, but variably different animals. The Hunt, Inkeri recalled, alongside her intense distaste for them. They all said blurred things which she hardly picked up on. 

The deer boy and Inkeri stared at each other for an eternity before he dropped his bow onto the floor. Mathias Rantanen pulled off his mask, revealing that angelic face, blond hair matted with sweat from the hunt, face pinched in a look mixed with disbelief and pain. 

Before she could say anything— an apology, an excuse, anything— he was closing the distance between them, enveloping the girl into a hug. His smell was so intimate that it finally pushed her over the edge, drops of water spilling from her eyes. 

Their tears mixed and fell onto the ground. However, both of their hair glowed so brightly that the onlookers had to shield their eyes, to avoid permanent blindness. 

Inkeri had completely forgotten about Riddle's wand in her pocket, but more importantly, the man himself, who was still tied to a chair in London. 

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