"Life was at best a transitory dream, set in a universe that was entirely indifferent to his fate. Whether to cling to that fragile dream, Parrado realized then and there, was up to him as it is up to all of us, moment by moment. Whether to embrace what we are all thrust into, squealing with astonishment and rage, or to fall back into the comfortable, dark, quiet realm of the insentient."

━━ THE INDIFFERENT STARS ABOVE

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Inkeri stood between platforms 9 and 10 at Kings Cross station, uncertainty weaving its way into her expression. She had been instructed to find 9 3/4, and after being scorned by the station master for her naïve questioning, she resorted to waiting for someone who seemed magical to walk past.

Two girls eventually came by, giggling idly amongst themselves, and she perked up at the sight of a broomstick in one of their hands. She watched with befuddled eyes as the pair strolled casually through the brick pillar in front of them, disappearing before the gasp had even left Inkeri's mouth. Evidently, brick walls symbolized concealed gateways in Western Europe more often than not.

She pushed her cart so she was in line with the pillar, then walked steadily forward, deciding that a slower approach would be less painful. She braced herself for a crash, but it never came, and she instead found herself on the correct platform, a large red steam train standing proudly before her, preparing for departure. 

Struggling slightly to pull her trunk onto the train, Inkeri marvelled at the interior. It was nothing special to an accustomed eye, but to her, it was the portal through which she would enter a world entirely dissimilar to her old one.

Due to her late arrival, none of the compartments were fully empty, so when Inkeri finally found one with only a single girl occupying it, she jumped on the opportunity, sliding open the glass door.

"Hello," Inkeri said, smiling politely as the girl looked up at her. She had warm brown eyes that resembled the hazel trees which the villagers burned for warmth against the biting cold, with slender eyebrows and soft features composing her portrait to look delicate and amiable, and dark hair framing her round face. "May I sit here?"

"Of course," she said, her doe eyes widening and a smile brightening her soft features. Relieved, the blonde girl took a seat opposite her, noting the blue accents her robes adorned.

"Inkeri Koskinen," she greeted, fiddling nervously with her wand— she rarely ever had to introduce herself. "You are...?"

"Asha Lohiya," the other girl responded warmly. "Are you new? I don't recall ever seeing you before." There was no hostility in her voice, only genuineness.

"Yes, I just moved here from Norway," Inkeri said, almost tripping over her own words. "I'm a sixth year, I believe."

"How wonderful! Me too," Asha said, her smile widening. "I do hope you make it into Ravenclaw. Our house numbers have dwindled considerably as of late."

"I don't quite follow," Inkeri confessed apologetically. She was almost hypnotised by the gentle way in which Asha spoke, as though her voice had been blessed by angels.

"Of course, you wouldn't know about the houses," Asha realised, mentally berating herself. She began rummaging through her bag, and before the witch could ask her what she was doing, she had pulled out a book titled Hogwarts: A History. "Let me give you an unbiased explanation of the houses."

"Hogwarts is divided into four Houses: Gryffindor, founded by Godric Gryffindor; Hufflepuff, founded by Helga Hufflepuff; Ravenclaw, founded by Rowena Ravenclaw; and Slytherin, founded by Salazar Slytherin," Asha read aloud, her gentle voice carrying through the compartment. "Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding Witches and Wizards. Gryffindor students embody bravery and chivalry; Ravenclaw, intelligence and wit; Hufflepuff, loyalty and kindness; and Slytherin, the values of being ambitious and cunning."

"So you're intelligent?" Inkeri mused and Asha blushed slightly under the scrutiny of her intense gaze.

"I wouldn't say so," she admitted. "My mind has an unfortunate tendency to wander."

"I shall hope to get into Ravenclaw," Inkeri said breezily, her line of sight wandering to the book in Asha's hands. "May I borrow that?" Asha nodded obligingly, watching as the foreign girl read the volume with eager interest.

Though Asha pulled out a book of her own, she surveyed Inkeri from the corner of her eye. She was an odd sort of girl in a way that was indescribable; her whitish-blonde hair seemed to reflect the dimming sunlight, although her skin was pallid and ghostly, and her eyes had an iridescent blue sheen of such a light hue that it was almost unnerving.

By the time the train came to a stop, a blanket of black had descended over the sky, and as Inkeri got off the train, she marvelled the magnificent structure that was Hogwarts' castle which loomed in the distance.

"It never ceases to amaze me," Asha said dreamily, gazing upon her school with pride.

"I can understand why," Inkeri replied, her eyes glued to the structure, which was of a greater magnitude than any building she'd ever seen before.

The carriages which took them to the school were pulled by skeletal creatures which vaguely resembled horses, with a reptilian hide, white eyes, and leathery black wings. Inkeri had only ever read about Thestrals, and thought they were beautiful, in a morbid sense.

She clambered into the carriage after the Ravenclaw girl as the Thestrals started to traipse forward. They were accompanied by some other younger children who talked mindlessly about chocolate frogs.

"Do you know which subjects you're taking?" Asha inquired, and Inkeri shook her head.

"No. I sort of just showed up here," she admitted. She wasn't even sure if the headmaster knew of her arrival. Asha gave her a quizzical look, but didn't ask any questions.

"Well then you'll get to choose soon!" She enthused. "Have you anything in mind? Any preferences?"

"No," Inkeri said, looking at her doubtfully. "What do they offer?"

"Well, you can take one to five subjects for N.E.W.T.s," she explained. "I want to be an Astronomy professor, so I'm only taking Astronomy and Divination, but there's a lot to choose from. I'm sure you will have a chat with Professor Dumbledore before they make your timetable."

The witch felt almost queasy at the uncertainty she faced, even though Astronomy and Divination were both subjects she was relatively familiar with. Asha must have sensed this, because she placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"You needn't look so perturbed," she said, "they sound difficult, but they're really not." Inkeri hesitated, and nodded..

Finally, they arrived and got out of the carriages. Asha led Inkeri straight up  a passageway in the rock, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle, then up a flight of stone steps to the huge, oak front door, which was wide open.

Inkeri stared with awe at the interior of the castle, whose stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

"Come on," Asha said excitedly, tugging at her arm. "This is nothing. The Great Hall is the real sight to behold." As they walked through the large doors, the witch realised her companion was right.

Inkeri had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, which were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Dotted here and there among the students, ghosts shone misty silver. Inkeri looked up and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

"Everyone sits according to their house," Asha said, and Inkeri noticed the tables were split into yellow, red, blue and green. She looked down critically at her colourless robes. "Sit with me until you're sorted, nobody will mind," Asha dismissed, pulling her over to the Ravenclaw table, while Inkeri continued swivelling her head in every direction.

"Asha," she whispered suddenly, "Why is there a hat on that stool?" Asha laughed.

"That's how they decide your house," she said. "You see that large group of children standing in the middle of the hall? They're first years, waiting to be sorted." Inkeri wanted to ask more questions, when a hush fell across the Hall and a man stood up at the head table. She realised he was the headmaster, Dippet.

"Welcome," he said in a wheezy voice. He wasn't quite impressive, in the young girl's opinion. "To another year filled with magic and wonder. I hope you all thoroughly enjoyed the summer break, and have returned, refreshed, and ready to resume your education! Now, I will waste no time in allowing the sorting ceremony to commence!"

To Inkeri's immense shock, a rip in the brim of the hat in the middle of the hall opened, and the hat started singing. It sang about the houses, and their accomplishments, and Asha laughed again at the look of disbelief on her face.

When it was done, a man finally stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. He had bright blue eyes, with which he surveyed the list carefully.

"That's Professor Dumbledore," Asha whispered. "He's quite marvellous, in my opinion."

One by one, the first years were called up, and the hat would pause in contemplation, before shouting out a house. Slowly, all the first years disappeared, and Dumbledore hesitated slightly with suspicion before calling out the last name on his list.

"Koskinen, Inkeri!" She was frozen, and Asha pushed her gently out of her seat. Feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious, her sole focus was on not tripping over her own feet in front of everyone, as their eyes bore into her like bullets.

She sat on the stool slowly, and the hat was lowered onto her head. She felt a forceful presence in the back of her head, as though someone were trying to break in.

"Your mind is closed off to me," a voice said roughly, and she flinched, before realising it was the hat, talking lowly in her ear. "I cannot sort you if you do not let me into your head!"

"I don't know how to," she whispered, realising that it was Ora's runework that blocked the hat's access to her thoughts, and it huffed in irritation.

"Well I cannot determine your house based on looks! You may well just tell me which colour you like best, since I am required to call out a name despite your ridiculous barriers!" Inkeri winced at the hat's angry tone.

Yellow was the brightest house, where light practically overflowed from pure and innocent souls. Red was similar albeit slightly dimmer, but she didn't like the vibrancy of the colour anyway. Inkeri looked over to Asha, who was watching with hopeful eyes from the blue table, and the blonde witch wished, for a second, to just say blue.

But her eyes wandered to green. Scarce glimmers of light shone from their young souls. Darkness prevailed were light conceded. If Inkeri wanted to find the darkness, she knew she'd find it among the silver and emerald shades. So she made her decision, and whispered it to the hat.

"SLYTHERIN!" It shouted, and the Slytherin table clapped and cheered, while every other house was silent.

Inkeri avoided Asha's gaze, taking a random seat next to a girl who looked to be about her age. She had black hair and strikingly attractive features, but she wore them in a twisted expression of disgust, her eyes narrowed in a sneer. Inkeri decided not to try to initiate conversation with this one.

The headmaster returned to his podium. "Now, I know how eager everyone must be eager to sink their teeth into our wonderful welcome feast. However, I have a few start of term announcements to make first. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.

Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Kodische. Thank you!" He turned back to his table as everyone, for some strange reason, clapped.

When Inkeri turned back, she was met with the aroma of dishes laden with finely prepared food, most of which consisted of elements she'd never seen before. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, she started with just a few potatoes and a lump of pastry that she didn't know the name of.

Her eyes wandered around the table, and landed on a familiar face across from her, whose eyes widened when they saw her, mouth twisting up into a mocking grin.

"Well, what a coincidence," Orpheus Lestrange mused, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I don't quite recall your name, Miss...?"

"Koskinen," Inkeri replied warily, rather fazed by the look he was giving her.

His lips tightened into a more strained smirk. "Right." A boy beside him with curlier hair looked up from the book he was reading and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"You don't look like a first year," he noted, eyeing her up and down. He had a scar running across his face, with a sharp nose and shapely lips. "I can't imagine that you are, actually."

"I'm a sixth year," she said slowly, and he tilted his head in confusion.

"She moved here from Norway," Lestrange droned, almost in a sceptical tone, as though he didn't quite believe it. The book boy raised an eyebrow.

"Did you transfer from Durmstrang?" He asked, seemingly intrigued. Inkeri wondered what on earth Durmstrang was. "I heard that was in the North."

"No," she said blankly, and he shrugged in response having lost interest, going back to reading his book. Lestrange didn't seem satisfied as he scrutinised her.

"Well then where— "

"I apologize on their behalf," interrupted the boy beside her. He had hair blond enough to almost rival her own, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. "Evidently some people have forgotten their manners." Lestrange opened his mouth to protest, but he didn't get the chance. "Abraxas Malfoy," the blond boy introduced. "It seems you're already familiar with Lestrange. The idiot with the book over there is Rosier." Inkeri noticed how Malfoy's voice turned cold and his smile thinned.

Rosier looked up and narrowed his eyes and Malfoy held his gaze coolly, the air turning frigid around them. Clearly the two had some sort of tension between them, and Inkeri shifted awkwardly, stabbing a potato with her fork.

"Niklaus," the curly haired boy muttered with a scowl, finally breaking the stare-off, as he glared at his book, but his eyes didn't drink in the words. "I prefer Niklaus."

"Right, of course," Malfoy said brightly, tearing his eyes away from Niklaus, though the latter still glowered. "The charming boy beside me is Vladimir Dolohov, although I doubt you'll ever find yourself wanting to converse with him."

Dolohov didn't even seem fazed by the comment; he practically ignored everything that was going on around him, focused solely on studying the goblet in front of him. He was very attractive, with short black hair and defined features, though there was a strange intensity about him.

Finally, Malfoy pointed to a familiar boy, and Nott waved up at her.

"We are acquaint-t-ted," Nott said before Malfoy had to introduce him. He smiled at her. "How do you fare?"

"Quite well, thank you," she said politely. Nott was definitely easy to talk to; far more so than Lestrange. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the intimidating girl watching her carefully, but when Inkeri smiled at her, she just gave a defiant glare in return. Lestrange watched, amused.

"Alright, Selwyn?" he goaded, eying the girl. "You seem a little tense."

"Watch your tongue," Selwyn hissed, her knuckles turning white from how tightly she gripped her knife.

Lestrange raised an eyebrow. "She's a vicious little vixen," he told Inkeri, lips curling into a dry smile. Selwyn didn't like that at all. When Lestrange reached out for a bread roll, the girl plunged her steak-knife into his hand, burying it to the handle. He yelped and tried to wrench his arm away, but the knife had pierced all the way through, pinning it to the table. 

The newcomer watched with shock as Lestrange gasped in pain and the chaos that ensued, as everybody laughed at his plight, his crimson blood staining the white tablecloth. It could almost seem like a common occurrence, from the way they all reacted.

"Away from my book, you blithering idiot," Rosier scowled, wrenching his novel away from the table when his friend knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice in a panic.

"What do I do?" Lestrange fretted, his horror growing by the second as he lost more and more of his life elixir. Nott rolled his eyes, and in one quick jerk, pulled the blade out of his hand. This time, the dark-haired boy stifled a howl of pain, and Inkeri watched with disturbed eyes as Selwyn cackled with malicious glee at the display of anguish.

"You're lucky Riddle isn't here to witness your foolery," Malfoy told him dryly as the boy clutched his hand to his chest. Inkeri desperately wished she could heal it; his pathetic attempts at hiding his agony were futile as his cheeks began to redden at the sight of the gaping wound in his hand. To his credit, he didn't allow his eyes to water.

"My foolery?" Lestrange gasped. "She stabbed me!" Selwyn sobered, her pupils turning to hateful slits, although she didn't say anything. Inkeri watched as Nott handed the blade to Dolohov, who pocketed it absent-mindedly, without even cleaning the blood from it.

"You should get that healed quickly," Inkeri finally vocalized. "It may have caused damage to tendons or neurovascular bundles."

"What are you a nurse?" Lestrange quipped, his voice tense from the pain, and Malfoy snickered slightly. Inkeri shrugged and went back to her potatoes. If he wanted to bleed out, then that was on him.

"Where is Riddle?" Rosier asked, still looking disgruntled at Lestrange's intrusion upon his peaceful reading. From what Inkeri could see, the volume didn't possess a title on the front cover, and she bit her tongue with suspicion.

"With Slughorn," Malfoy said, taking a sip from his goblet. "He has some important inquiries he wishes to discuss," the blond boy droned, as though it were a well-versed code, whose insinuations were only to be picked up on by rehearsed ears. It worked, as Nott stiffened slightly and Dolohov looked up for the first time.

"Right of course," Rosier said lowly. "He did say that he intended to—" He fell silent as Lestrange nudged him sharply. Both boys looked down immediately, and Nott suddenly seemed particularly interested in his fork. Inkeri thought it was because of her, until Malfoy spoke.

"Good evening, professor," the blond boy greeted, and the witch whirled round to see Professor Dumbledore examining the strange group with a raised eyebrow. "How are you?"

"I'm quite alright, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said lightly, "the mint humbugs are a new addition to the feast, and I must say, they are quite delightful."

"Are they?" Malfoy said, his tone contemptuous, and his lips pressed in a straight line, as he looked back at the boys, his grey eyes sparkling. Inkeri realised he was silently making fun of the teacher. "I'll be sure to try them, Sir." Lestrange rolled his eyes, though he immediately straightened when Dumbledore's piercing gaze fell upon him, and then more pointedly at the puncture mark on his hand.

"Mr Lestrange, you may wish to visit the Hospital Wing, that injury looks quite frightful," Dumbledore said absent-mindedly, before turning to Inkeri. "Miss Koskinen, I was wondering if I might have a word?" She nodded immediately, relieved at the opportunity to get away from the bizarre Slytherins.

"Yes, of course," she said quickly, standing up. She followed Dumbledore out of the Great Hall, oblivious to the pair of eyes that followed her as she walked. The eyes that were the hollows where the darkness she searched for thrived and festered, hidden by its crafted guise. Almost instinctually, she turned around, but was met by nothing other than the idle chatter of students.

Dumbledore led her through the unfamiliar corridors which crafted Hogwarts' painting into an idyllic scene from a medieval portfolio. Candlelight adorned her features as they walked toward the teacher's office.

"I must say, when Headmaster Dippet informed us of your estranged arrival, I was quite intrigued," he mused. "Particularly by the method through which he received the news."

Inkeri swallowed, glanced at the moving staircases that altered their pathways and the portraits on the walls began to talk. Her robes were too long and she carefully watched each step, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"Communication can be difficult," she said tentatively. Dumbledore hummed in acknowledgement as they finally reached his office. He opened the door and held out his hand for her enter through it first, and she nodded at the courtesy before stepping through.

The room was large, considering it was supposedly little more than a study. A sweeping staircase split the top from the bottom, and large tapestries hung from the walls, though not as morbid as the ones of Ora's church. Hundreds of intriguing ornaments and curious gadgets littered the bookshelves, and a stunning creature of red and gold was perched atop a stand placed on a messy desk sprawling with notes and sheafs of papers. Inkeri had never seen a real phoenix before, and a smile broke out on her face.

"Please, take a seat," Dumbledore said as he took his own behind the desk, and Inkeri sat down opposite him. "Now, I'm sure you are quite exhausted from your long journey, so I will not keep you long." He lifted a few stacks of parchment, and pushed a form closer to her.

"What is this about, Sir?" Inkeri asked nervously.

"This is about which subjects you would like to pursue at Hogwarts," he informed her, and she nearly laughed with relief at the trivial matter that she'd almost forgotten. "These are your N.E.W.Ts, so I would advise you to choose wisely. They may prove essential in your future career choice."

"N.E.W.Ts?" She repeated, taking a quill from him and dipping it into a pot of black ink.

"Yes, the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests." She looked up at him to see if he was jesting, but there was no hint of mirth on his face.

Examining the form, Inkeri realised that Asha had been right, as she recognised quite a few of the subjects on the list. It did not particularly matter what she took as her fate was limited to the confines of the forest, so she ticked things off without giving them a second thought. There was one that caught her eye though, and she hesitated, before ticking it too.

"Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, Potions, and... Defence Against the Dark Arts," the professor read with some thought. Then he smiled brightly up at her. "Quite an interesting selection! I'm sure you will find them quite enjoyable."

"Thank you," she said with a forced smile. "Is that all...?"

"Oh, yes. I'll get your timetable to you tomorrow, at breakfast." With that, he opened the door for her and she stepped outside. He closed it immediately, and she lingered momentarily; Dumbledore had clearly forgotten that she had no idea where to go or how to get there.

Inkeri was mustering up the courage to knock and ask, when a boy and a man emerged from the room beside her. The older man was laughing heartily at a joke he'd just been told, his hand on his slightly bulging stomach as he did so.

The boy, whose appearance could have made any girl swoon, was far more composed, only a small smirk playing on his lips. Dark curls rested perfectly atop his head, and his onyx eyes gleamed with a strange coldness and concealed malice. Her line of sight moved upwards to a slender nose, which could have been crafted from porcelain. The nose was situated between smooth cheeks which rolled over defined cheekbones that caught the shadows of the scarcely lit corridor.

But despite the examination, there was only one thing that stood out to her. It was his soul; he was devoid of any light, more so than any normal person she had ever seen before. The darkness was so enveloping that she almost feared it would suck in her own brightness and consume it, defying the laws of energy and destroying it in its wake.

She was staring, and she only became aware of it when they both turned to look at her. Inkeri felt the heat rise to her cheeks under their scrutiny.

"Are you quite alright, m'dear?" The jovial old man asked, and she almost wanted to bolt— but she didn't want to be lost in the gloomy castle in the dead of night, so braved herself to ask for help.

"I've lost my way," she said cautiously, flinching backwards slightly as he let out another booming laugh.

"Not to worry, dear, it happens to the best of us! Why, and you seem to be a member of my own house, how delightful!"

"I was just heading to the Slytherin Common Room now," the boy said, fixing her with an intent stare. She grimaced and looked down at her shoes. "I would be more than happy to escort you there." She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the Professor.

"A true gentleman, as always Riddle!" he said, and she wondered whether his jaw never ached from smiling so widely. Riddle smiled, showing pristine white teeth, but Inkeri knew it was a façade; it didn't reach his eyes, and his brow twitched irately.

"My pleasure. Have a good night, Professor," the boy said, and with a final nod to her, the teacher went back inside. Riddle now eyed Inkeri up and down, evidently unimpressed though he hid it relatively well. He didn't say anything, just took off in a direction which could be right or wrong, and she would have neither clue nor choice but to follow him.

She fell into step beside him, and unbeknownst to her, he was examining her curiously. She stuck out in a way that he didn't understand, and the manner in which her cold eyes seemed to see through him was almost alarming.

"I don't recall ever seeing you before," he said suddenly, as a charismatic smile spread across his lips. Inkeri could barely register it; his darkness was making it hard to breathe, and she half expected him to break out in flames and proclaim himself Surma* then and there.

"I just joined," she said evenly, and he raised his eyebrows in feigned interest, a sign that he wanted her to elaborate. "From, um, Norway."

"Norway," he repeated interestedly. "Would I be mistaken to assume that your migration was due to Nazi occupation of the country? I heard that the Germans invaded it in 1940."

Inkeri's eyes were wide, and she swallowed down her confusion. "Mhm," she mumbled, looking down at her feet. "Exactly that." He tilted his head at her strange behaviour, though she wasn't able to decipher his thoughts.

Riddle knew that she was lying. It was painfully obvious; to a trained eye such as his, which could pick up on the merest threads of deceit, the way she hesitated and thought carefully before every answer made it clear that she had something to hide. He didn't question her outright, though— it would be far more amusing to watch her squirm.

"The war is bound to become quite the lamentable tale," he continued, and even though he didn't turn his head, he could feel her stare on him. "The muggle one," he clarified, and she nodded slowly.

"Indeed," she murmured. "Lamentable."

"If you don't mind me asking, where did you study in Norway?" He pressed, and frustration burned through her at his unrelenting questioning.

She didn't have an answer to his question, and in the heat of the moment and the blaze of panic, she blurted the first thing that came to her mind. "Durmstrang," she said. She nodded. "Yes, Durmstrang." His eyes widened briefly with surprise, but in a single moment, returned to their passive quality.

"A very secretive school, from what I've heard," he conceded, and she hoped he put her strange behaviour down to that. "They dabble with the Dark Arts quite heavily, do they not?" Again, Inkeri resented her sheer lack of intelligence, and ability to come up with a better lie.

"Yes, it's a part of the curriculum," she said slowly. Riddle nodded, and she breathed with relief. He had decided that that was enough for today— he had more pressing concerns on his mind, particularly the very intriguing conversation he'd just had with Slughorn.

They descended back into silence, the sound of their footsteps ricocheting on the polished marble floor, unaccompanied by any other sound. It was all so still, so quiet, and her heart almost ached for the familiar forests of her home.

Finally, they descended the steps of what seemed like a dungeon. Inkeri was almost convinced that Riddle was going to try to murder her in the murky solitude, but he just stepped in front of the door calmly. "Sanguis Pudicitae," he said almost mindlessly, and the door swung open, to reveal an extraordinary room. Riddle stepped aside and held out his hand, allowing her to walk through first. She forced a smile, then walked past him and into the room.

This dungeon extended partway under the lake, giving the light in the room a green tinge. The common room had lots of low-backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas, skulls; and dark wood cupboards. It was decorated with tapestries, featuring the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins. It had quite a grand atmosphere, but also quite a cold one. There were large windows too, overlooking nothing but murky water.

"Everyone is yet to return from the feast," Riddle said, his voice deep and smooth like obsidian. "Unless there's any way I could aid you further..." Inkeri understood the implication of his words.

"Oh, right," she said snapping out of her daze. "No, I thank you. I should get going." She turned and looked around, noticing him staring pointedly at a staircase. She started up it, before coming to a cross, and deciding to go right.

"The girls' dormitories are on the left," he called out lazily, and she felt some humiliation as she turned back around. Finally she came to the the Sixth Year girls' room, and she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, taking deep breaths to calm her frayed and exposed nerves.

Inkeri counted to ten, then opened her eyes again. Her things were placed beside a four-poster bed in the far corner— which was accompanied by a tiny chest of drawers— and she took to unpacking, starting by placing her small statue of the goddess Suonetar on the top.

Almost twenty minutes later, she was just emerging from the bathroom after having changed, and she was met with a group of girls who were giggling with each other and catching up after two months of being apart. A few of them nodded or smiled or said hello to her, but she was still too nervous from her encounter with Riddle to approach them. Her eyes fell on Selwyn, who sat isolated, reading idly on her bed which adorned black covers. She didn't say hello to the psychotic girl.

Inkeri lay awake in her bed late into the night, the curtains drawn around it. She couldn't sleep. She thought about Malfoy, and how despite his initial appearance as a friendly and polite person, she'd noticed a sardonic timbre to his tone whenever he spoke to her.

Her thoughts, naturally, wandered to Riddle, with his soul like a black hole, and her heart rate picked up again. Ora had no light, but not in the same way as Riddle, who seemed to be emerged in such perpetual darkness, he seemed to be beyond the possibility of salvation. A strange feeling settled in her gut.

Inkeri believed that she had found the person she'd been sent to look for.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Surma— "The Grim Reaper, a personification of death, that is called in poems to come and kill a chosen person."