Growing up, Varya had been told to beware of the demons that lurked in the school's shadows. She knew, of course, of the creatures that sauntered the fields, their bloodthirst making them peek through the shut blinds, luring the children's pure souls to come outside and play.

Her biggest phobia had been the baubas, demonic ghosts who pried on innocence and naivety. Those monsters, although presumably fictional, hid inside of the castle- under their wooden beds, in their small drawers, behind the stairs. They only came out at night, and they savored fear.

She had never seen one, but the maidens that took care of the apprentices would always tell her stories. Her young mind believed every word, and for the longest time, could not sleep until the rooster cried out in the early hours of the day, making her come out from underneath her blankets.

Then, as she grew older, she started fearing ghosts less and watching humans more. She realized, eventually, that the baubas were nothing but a representation of the evilness that humankind had spun.

Ultimately, she found herself to be more alike to a ghost than a living person. She had always been of a weak body and a healthy mind, her tiny frame making her go unnoticed as a child. In her childhood, she had almost succumbed to pneumonia, coughing up for nights to no end until the village's healer accepted to see her. Even after healing, she would still struggle to breathe sometimes, dizziness becoming her reality more than an unusual occurrence.

Once her powers developed, she felt her strength build, but her presence had already been diminished. Varya was someone that was accustomed to hiding, to being a wallflower. She kept to herself, rarely speaking to people around her unless it was for class.

Furthermore, her presence was alike to a phantom as well, with slumped shoulders and tangled long black hair. Her face did not carry any light, and her dark eyes bore into those of her peers, emotionless and cold. Her voice was soft, much like a dream, melodious, and her skin was a translucent gray, weakened by the lack of sunlight in her castle.

Even so, her current state was uncharacteristically weak. Varya let her feet dangle off of her bed, too exhausted to drag herself onto it. Her head rested on one of her pillows, eyes closed, and she tried to breathe slowly, attempting to subside the throbbing pain in her temples. Still, she refused to go to the infirmary, not wanting to be forced to spend the night of Slughorn's gathering in a hospital bed.

Ivy watched her with concern from her bed, eyebrows downcasted at her roommate's obvious pain. She bit her lip, then got up and then dropped to her knees, looking underneath her bed. The blonde girl reached out with one hand, ignoring the disgust that crept at her as she felt the dusty carpet, and pulled out a small box.

She made her way to where Varya wailed in misery, then lifted her slowly despite the girl's avid protesting. Ivy helped her friend support herself on the bed's heading, then opened her box and took out a vial of liquid.

"Drink this," her honey voice let out, "It is a remedy against pain and sickness, it should help numb you out."

Varya grabbed in greedily, throwing her head back as she swallowed every drop of liquid. She wrinkled her nose in repugnance at its sharp taste but immediately felt the pain slip away.

"Beware, though, as it is known to make you drowsy," continued Ivy, placing the box on her nightstand, "It should get you through the night, but promise me that you will visit the hospital if you feel unwell again."

"I promise," answered Varya, slowly getting up and stretching. She looked, and the clock then sighed, dreading what was to come.

"Do you know what you will wear?" Ivy asked, making her way to her closet. She opened its doors, showcasing a multitude of splendid dresses. Varya gawked at them, mesmerized by their beauty. Her roommate giggled, then dug in her closet, pulling out an abundant, midnight azure dress. Varya marveled at its elegance, its silky material crossing over the chest with a darling neckline. A slit opened for one leg, and the waist clasped around her hips, making her shape stand out.

"I fear it might be too much," said Varya, worry already creasing her forehead.

"Nonsense, the evening is quite formal, men wear suits and women wear dresses. As it has always been," explained Ivy, who had attended a few SlugClub's meetings. She handed the dress off to Varya, then fashioned herself a deep red dress.

"Very well then," Varya murmured, turning around to promptly change into her attire. It weighed nothing against her skin, and she smiled as she moved smoothly around the bedroom. She turned around, then gasped.

Ivy stood against the chamber's dim light, carmine surrounding her as she twirled felicitously. Her locks hung loosely around her face, light strands ending right above her collarbones. Her face had the faintest shine of glimmer, dawn-tinted dust covering her protruding cheeks. Her charm was undeniable as she grinned at Varya.

Varya pulled at a long strand of raven hair, twirling it around her finger, suddenly feeling the weight of self-doubt rest on her shoulders. She glanced in the mirror briefly, looking at her figure as it swayed in the light, a small scowl on her face. She pressed a digit against her desiccated lips, picking at the skin.

"Stop doing that," came a kind voice from behind her, and she felt herself be pushed to stand on the edge of the bed. Ivy pulled her hair over her shoulders, freeing her face of any loose strands, then applied a soft cream to her lips. She dabbed a brush in a crimson jar, then gently swept it over Varya's pout, tracing its outline. Then, with a light brush, she twirled her hair and fixed it in delicate waves, letting her layers frame her face. "There, now stop glowering, it takes away from your charm.

Varya scoffed, "That is because I have no charm."

"Liar," taunted Ivy, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of their dorm. As they walked down the stairs to the Common Room, Varya noticed a few boys standing at the entrance, looking slightly restless.

Malfoy glanced up, then rolled his eyes. "About time," he said as he smoothened over his clothes.

"Were you waiting for us?" asked Ivy, feigning candor as she batted her sable eyelashes at him. That only earned her a scoff, though Varya did not miss the appreciative glance that Abraxas shot her roommate.

Varya let her eyes wander to the obscure figure that loomed in the corner and met a pair of marine orbs. Tom Riddle gazed at her solemnly, a stone-cold expression on his face as his eyes trailed down her attire. He shot her a pleasant half-smile, pushing himself off the wall and making his way to her.

As he towered over her, curls falling on his forehead, Varya felt her breath catch in her throat. He examined her closely, then extended out a hand towards her. Despite herself, the girl placed her delicate fingers out to his invite and watched in surprise as he laid a feathery kiss on her knuckles.

Tom did not say anything more as he turned around and stepped out of the room, his steps sounding in the hallway. Varya stood still, ignoring the unpleasant tug at her heart, and watched him disappear behind a corner.

"Varya?" Icarus' voice snapped her out of her daze, and she turned to find the boy looking at her softly. His gaze kept a promise that the girl did not know if she could keep, and as he extended his elbow out to her, she felt her heart twist.

Nevertheless, she took his offer, and they followed the steps of the rest of the group as they made their way down to Slughorn's gathering. Out of the corner of her eyes, Varya glanced at Lestrange, who had taken his time to tidy his hair and put on a suit.

He was beautiful, his skin radiating with an alluring shine, brunette hair falling in a chic hairstyle. And his copper-colored eyes carried more warmth in the moonshine, reflecting its soft radiance. Icarus conducted himself with an elegance that was uncharacteristic for his tender age, almost that of a man who held prominent self-reliance, and right now, his aura had no malice to it.

He turned his head and caught her gaze, giving her another small grin, and Varya noticed the slight blush that flooded from his cheeks to his ears. She turned her head, parting her lips in awe, unaware of the passion in the boy's eyes.

As they entered Slughorn's office, Varya's eyes widened at its extravagance. The grandeur made Dumbledore's chamber look like a broom cupboard, with its fine tapestry and leathered couches. A few other students had already arrived, and Varya made a note of their faces.

Maxwell Nott was, as always, twisting the pages of another book on one of the couches, ignorant of his surroundings. His dark suit fit him well, making his sharpness and intellectually stand out even more than usual.

Nicholas Avery stood at the table, already in a profound dialogue with Malfoy, as his eyes roamed the salon guardedly. His stature was unyielding, almost as if he was in a state of defense, and the tautness was noticeable in his jaw. His eyes landed on Varya, and they succinctly narrowed, before going back to Malfoy.

Two Ravenclaw prefects were chatting with Slughorn, and Varya recognized one of them as Della Beauchamp, a muggle-born witch in her fifth year. She had seen her in some of her classes and regarded her as a free spirit. They had never talked, however, as many muggle-borns tended to stray away from Slytherins. Now, as she observed the girl gesturing with enthusiasm at her story, she hoped that she could befriend such characters.

"Should I take your coat?" asked Icarus, and Varya felt guilt pool in her gut at neglecting him.

"Thank you," she said as she detached her robe and gave it to him, suddenly feeling strangely exposed.

She clasped her hands and bit her lip, then leisurely made her way around the room, glancing around anxiously. She greeted her professor, thanked him for the invite, and then sat down at the table opposite Malfoy and Avery.

Nicholas looked at her again, and Varya felt the weight of his stare as he seemed to break her into pieces and examine them. He cleared his throat, then extended his hand.

"Nicholas Avery," his voice was that of a baritone, and it had a raspiness to it, "I believe we have not introduced ourselves yet." Varya shook his hand, nodding at his statement.

"Varya Petrov," she answered, although she believed that he already knew her name, as most people did. Icarus came back then and took a seat next to her, nodding in acknowledgment at his friend.

"Yes, I have heard quite a bit about you," Avery continued, eyes flickering to Icarus, "You attended an outlandish school, am I correct?"

"Yes, Scholomance Academy of Dark Arts. It is a modest school in Transylvania," the girl answered, thanking Malfoy as he passed her a glass of liquid. She drank it slowly, using it as a commodity to not elaborate on her statement.

"Dark Arts, quite an engrossing topic. Were you trained in martial magic?" he questioned her, his mouth enunciating each word carefully.

"Indeed, I was. We studied it from our second year until I left."

Her eyes flew to the boy that approached them with grace, and her breath stopped as Tom Riddle sat on her right side, champagne class pressed lightly against his lips. In this setting, he seemed to command with his allure, his etiquette making him stand out amongst the crowd of students. His hair was styled back, lifting his features, and his tie stood rather loosely around his neck. He turned towards her, elbows resting on the table, and raised an eyebrow.

"What a wonder to be able to study such a subject and still choose to come here," he said, twirling the champagne flute in his hand. "As a matter of fact, why did you decide to leave?"

Varya scratched at her neck, feeling strangled by his stare, then cleared her throat. She hoped her nervousness was not apparent, though, by the ominous glint in Tom's eyes, she doubted that was true.

"There was much darkness surrounding the castle, not just magic, but demonic. Creatures like you have never seen..." she drew on, her gaze unfocused.

"Creatures?" asked Maxwell Nott as he took a seat beside Avery, acknowledging her existence for the first time since she had arrived. Unlike the rest of them who had fancied a tie with their suit, Maxwell had a loose silky scarf hang around his neck.

Between the five wizards, Varya felt outnumbered and defenseless, almost as if they had struck her from every direction. She felt her pulse quicken, frenzy slowly setting in and clouding her judgment. Then, Icarus placed a courteous hand on her lower back, his thumb massaging tenderly as to comfort her. Varya loosened lightly, then looked at the faces before her. Someone was missing.

"Where is Rosier?" she questioned, dumbfounded by his absenteeism. He was the one who had told her about the gathering in the first place, and she doubted he would have missed it.

Tom let out a dry chuckle, momentarily letting his eyes carry sinister thunder. "He is recovering. You see, poor Rosier does not do quite well with snakes, and when I let him take the basket out to the woods a few days ago, he panicked. I am afraid he suffered quite the gruesome bites. Alas, we all wish him a speedy recovery, do we not?" he probed his followers, who failed to meet his eyes but nodded to his question.

Varya looked at Tom, noticing the subtleness in his voice, then scoffed, taking the boys by surprise, "And am I supposed to believe that?".

She felt Icarus' hand freeze, then retract, and he leaned over to look at her. "Varya, I-"

"No," Tom raised his hand, quickly silencing him, "It is discourteous to interrupt a young woman, Lestrange. Let her vocalize her thoughts."

Varya noticed the parody in his timbre, taunting her as you would a naive child, but did not flatter as she spoke defiantly.

"I do not believe you, Tom. Not for a second." she spat, keeping her voice hushed as a Gryffindor passed them, giving her a strange look.

"Do not use my name, Petrov," Tom warned her, eyes flickering to his followers as they anxiously looked at the girl. He would not have someone openly undermine his authority.

"I do not know what you did," she said, "but I will find out."

"Is that a threat?" asked Tom through gritted teeth. The girl could tell that he was at the last of his wits, already hardening his gaze.

"Perhaps it is."

Slughorn approached them joyfully, boasting about a story that one of the Ravenclaw students had just told him, and took no notice of the combusting tension between the Slytherins. Ivy, however, was much more aware and shot Varya a questioning look as she sat down next to Abraxas Malfoy. Varya only glanced away, shutting her eyes and trying to calm down the hatred that she felt bubbling. She felt Icarus' eyes on her but pretended not to notice as she breathed out firmly.

The rest of the night passed on flatly, although Varya felt Tom Riddle watch her move like a bloodthirsty beast, waiting for her to make a mistake. He opposed everything she said, openly standing against her, and Varya could not help but glow with contentment at the fact that she had aggravated the prefect.

When the clock struck midnight, she hurried to pick up her cloak, not wanting to give any of the boys a moment to catch up. She threw it over her shoulder, then dashed out of the room, muttering a short goodbye to Slughorn.