CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Varya held the new Daily Prophet newspaper with clasped hands, so much so that it started wrinkling at the edges, and she felt another piece of her soul break off. Elladora was in front of her, and the Eastern witch discerned it was her first time seeing Selwyn cry to the point where she could not breathe, and Icarus had to hold her in place as her whole body shook with agony.

Rosier had paled completely, and his fists held the cutlery tightly as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, whereas Malfoy was darting his eyes around the Great Hall to assess everyone's reactions. Nicholas Avery was, perhaps, the worst of all, and he stood up from his table and threw a plate of German sausages to the ground in anger.

"Avery, stop!" shouted Nott as he tried to get the boy to calm down, but he only trashed in his hold until Maxwell had to drag him out of the room and away from the prying eyes of the students.

Varya's eyes skimmed the headlines, again and again, hoping that the words would jumble together and form a different sentence and that the newspaper was merely wrong. It could not be true, no.

Lopheus Evergeen was dead.

The picture on the front page was a good one, and his American features flashed with the arrogance that he had always shown. His lips were pulled in a coy smile, and it seemed to have been taken at Ilvermory by the attire he was wearing. It had been his final year, and he would have graduated in a few months.

They had found his body in the hotel room he was staying at in Sweeden— a rusty old motel, at that, something far beneath his wealth. He was trying to slip around undetected and had been murdered during the night. No magic was involved, they said, and they suspected it had been a robbery.

Varya knew better than that, in any case. Lopheus was a rancorous wizard, and no muggle would be able to strike him and live to tell the story. Something did not fit, a missing puzzle had been lost between the sofa's pillows, and it irked her mind.

Tom grabbed the newspaper from her hands and rumbled it in a ball, squashing the moving face of his follower, and then he threw it up and in a burst of flames. He was the most composed out of all of them, and as his eyes fell on his clique, he bit his lip in displeasure.

"You are being insensitive," muttered Varya as she played with the breakfast on her plate. Eating did not feel right, not with the news of the boy's death, nor with the shrill wailings of Elladora Selwyn.

The boy scowled, "What is done is done; there is no point in losing our minds over something we cannot change. I suspect you cannot bring him back to life, and so there is nothing we can do."

Rosier slammed a cold fist against the table, then slowly got up, facing Riddle with a look that would cost him great later. He scoffed in his face, then said, "Sometimes, you can be a real twat."

Then, Ren halted, almost as if realizing what he had said, and even Elladora broke her time of mourning to look up at the two in shock, eyes darting between Rosier's pale face and Tom's set jaw. Varya's heart plunged, as she knew that Tom would not tolerate this kind of insubordination, and thought about the best way of distracting the leader's mind.

"When are we leaving for Albania?" she questioned quickly before Riddle could make a move. The boy's eyes darted to her, almost as if he had forgotten that she was there, and then his face seemed to relax as something else took over his mind. Renold gave her a thankful look and scurried away, but they all knew this would not be forgotten.

"By the beginning of next week," Tom answered in a hushed tone, then glanced around the table. Nobody ever dared sit close to them, and yet he was still paranoid, "We will take the train from Paris, then travel to Albania."

The girl nodded, still unsure of whether she should go or not, and that was for multiple reasons. She was a ticking time-bomb, and whenever Varya was alone with Riddle, her emotions got the best of her, and her Obscurus exploded and embraced everything with darkness. Then, being around the boy itself was torturous for her, as he had been completely disregarding her after their kiss. Now, the death of a friend loomed over their heads.

Lopheus and her had barely known each other, and yet it stung. He was young, and he had gotten himself caught in a game that he should have never been part of. Varya did not know what had caused his death, and yet she suspected it was at least somewhat linked to Grindelwald.

Other people in the Great Hall had dismal expressions on their faces, and most had given up on the food in front of them. Although Lopheus was not British, his family was well known amongst the wizarding world, and his miscellaneous behavior always seemed to grace the front page of the newspaper.

Now, it had been for a completely different reason.

Varya did not know what to say to the Knights— it always hurt to lose someone from their ranks during the war, and they had all grown up together, save for Riddle. The boy looked utterly unfazed as he scribbled down his essay for next week, and the girl could only give gaze at him in utter bafflement. Was he truly this emotionless? It bothered her.

"Are you all right?" Varya turned to meet the eyes of Felixius Parkin, who had concern dancing in coffee irises and placed a small hand on her back in consolation. "I know he visited you some time ago; I imagine you must have been at least acquaintances."

That surely did stir a reaction out of Tom, who glanced between the two of them quickly, "Parkin, this is the Slytherin table. Surely, as Head-Boy, you have better duties than consoling grieving girls."

His tone was venomous, and Varya frowned in complete astonishment at his actions. Felix chuckled lightly, shaking his head at the apparent possessiveness, then retracted his hand from the witch's back.

He glanced at her again and gave her a soft smile, "If you need to talk to someone, do let me know." Then, he strode away, ignoring the absolute daggers that Tom Riddle was sending him.

The girl, however, could not just stand by and have Riddle act like this to her friends, so she scoffed and got up, completely ignoring the fact that the prefect wanted to talk to her. She walked out of the Great Hall, making her way to her Care for Magical Creatures class, and then realized Tom was taking the course as well. Damn it.

Just as the thought passed, she felt a presence by her side, and she turned to look at where Riddle was walking by her, watching Varya with a curious look.

"Why did Lopheus want to talk to you before he left?"

The secret itself did not truly matter anymore, not when Riddle already knew the fact that her parents had been alive during the Lestrange Mausoleum raid, and that she had been brought to Scholomance for her unusual predicament. Nevertheless, part of her wanted to preserve Evergreen's memory and not reveal his slight betrayal, so she lied with half-a-heart.

"He congratulated me for burning down the Room of Requirement."

The boy did not seem to buy it thoroughly, and yet he let it slide as they walked toward the Forbidden Forest, knowing that their lecture would take place there today. Silence enveloped the two, and yet they stole fugitive glances, both unsure what to say. Things had undoubtedly gone delicate and grouchy, especially with Riddle's unswerving unwillingness to acknowledge that something had changed between the two of them.

Professor Kettleburn was sitting by the Keeper's Hut excitedly, talking to another fifth-year-old as he gestured widely to the creature that he had brought for them to study— a Thestral.

Varya froze in her spot, and almost as if it whipped at her mind, the memory of Tom using Legilimency on her resurfaced, and she understood why the boy had never bothered asking about Dumbledore's intention to transfer her again. He thought the reason behind it was because of her Obscurus, and in some way, he might have been right.

The witch had been missing on all of their scheduled meetings, and had even been sitting in the back in his lectures, as she did not know if she could face the powerful wizard after facing the truth. After all, he had hidden everything from her just like the rest, except he was the one that was supposed to help her, and that made him worse than Tom Riddle and his Knights. At least they acknowledged their darkness, whereas the Professor only acted as if he was so self-righteous.

"Ah, Varya!" Kettleburn called after her, then waved his hand to get her to approach him. As soon as the girl was near, the creature started neighing uncontrollably, so much so that the Professor had to pull at the reigns and try to settle it down, "Peculiar, they only ever react like this when faced with something they consider dangerous, and yet I fail to see how a frail girl like you would scare them, ha!"

It should not have stung as much as it did, and yet the girl could barely flash a faux smile to him as her eyes darted to the Thestral— of course, they would fear her, she had killed one of their own. Kettleburn handed her a set of papers that had drawings of the creatures, then instructed her to give them to the class as not everyone could see the Thestral. Lucky kids, Varya thought.

"Now, I want you all to grab a pamphlet and look at the drawing. Some of you might not be able to see the creature itself because you have not witnessed death, and I do not want you all to think me a lunatic," Kettleburn quipped, but the students exchanged a few glances, knowing well that they already had that opinion of him.

Someone approached them with furious steps, and Varya turned to see a mournful Avery push his way to the crowd until he reached her, then simply stare at the Professor with a blank look. He was obviously not in his right mind, grieving the loss of a friend, and the muscles in his face kept twitching as if he was trying to control himself. Where there was Avery, there was Nott, and so the younger Slytherin soon stood by the other side of Varya, sending concerned glances to his friend.

The Professor's voice faded into obscurity, and Varya could only concentrate on the disheveled look of her friend, chest stinging with empathy, and she reached out to grab the boy's fingers in a gesture of sympathy. Avery gave her a scowl, obviously upset by the fact that he was being perceived as weak, and yet he squeezed her hand as if it was the only thing that kept him from falling apart.

"He has never lost someone," mumbled Nott in her ear, making sure that Nicholas could not hear, "Not someone he cared for, at least. And I do not think he knows how to react."

Of course, how could he know? Grief was not a thing that came naturally to humans, and it took experience to become accustomed to the idea that those around you might easily perish. For a boy like Avery, who had always thought of himself as a master of evading death, it must have been quite a shock not being able to protect such a close friend.

After all, he was only sixteen, soon to turn seventeen, and there were many things that a mind that young could not phantom, regardless of its crudity. At their age, they thought themselves invincible; they thought they had years ahead of them and that the sky was the limit. Sometimes, that failed to be true, and some stars lost their shine too early.

Lopheus Evergreen had been a great friend, a charismatic boy that had always watched over the heirs as they were growing up, and, perhaps, in some way, he had been some sort of paternal figure to some of them, despite only being two years older. He had more experience, and he would treat the young ones with fondness. They were not as impassive as some might believe, and despite being ruthless in their own ways, the Knights had threads of childhood in their lives.

"— Miss Petrov will demonstrate this for all of you," came the voice of their teacher, and Varya's dark eyes shot up in astonishment, having been lost in her thoughts. She approached the Thestral, eyes shaky as she saw the creature stomp its feet, but Kettleburn urged her to come and try to mount it.

"Professor, I do not think—"

"Nonsense, my dear, we all know that they do not attack unless they sense danger. Come on, do not fret."

How wrong he was on that, however, as the Thestral started jumping on its back feet, trying to crush the girl underneath livid hooves, and then retracting the closer she got. Varya reached out to the beast with a trembling hand, heart pumping with fear, and the creature only continued resisting fiercely. Her mind blanked, and paranoia settled in as memories of a silver blade against a dark neck slipped in, the anguish of killing an innocent creature ravaging her mind.

Then, she felt the wind pick up at her distress, and she saw a shadow extend and retract chaotically in the darkness of the forest. The witch tried to calm herself down, but it was simply too much, too much death and suffering— Ecaterina, Ivan, Lopheus, how many more would die around her? How many had died around her that she could not remember?

Suddenly, just as if it had been tranquilized, the Thestral ceased its relentless aggression and settled as if nothing had been wrong to begin with. Kettleburn applauded and urged the girl to touch it, and so she did. The Easterner let her small hand skim the dried skin of the monster, and she knew right then that it had not quieted because of her, but because of magic.

Eyes darted to Riddle immediately, and she might have missed the slight concentration on his face, the way his pupils dilated as he controlled the beast, had it not been for the way he was staring at the Thestral with absolute mindfulness. It did not take her long to understand that he had used her fear and paranoia to take control of the Thestral, just as she had taught him in the Rosier woods.

For personal benefit and exercise or to help her, the girl was not sure what his intention was, and yet she found herself to be grateful for his interference, as her Obscurus had started skimming around the edges of her soul.

Varya made her way back to the crowd of students, but she sat by Riddle this time, who acted as if she was not even around. She huffed in nuisance, already growing tired by his hot and cold attitude towards her, and started dreading their trip to Albania. Had she not been utterly infatuated with him and irrational, she would have long kicked him out of her life.

Nevertheless, they fit so well together it was almost sick, and whenever she doubted herself, the girl would remember the way he had kissed her— so absolute and decisive, as if she had been the only thing that could please him. Varya wanted more of that. She wanted him to kiss her again, and yet they had not been alone together in weeks.

Kettleburn dismissed the class after reminding everyone about the play that would happen later in the day, and Varya felt her heart sink at the thought of Elladora going on stage after hearing such terrible news. She might have been a complete twat most of the time, but nobody deserved to lose those they cared for.

Varya saw Avery stomp away, and ran up to catch him, but Icarus Lestrange stood in her path, eyebrows furrowed in concern, so the girl stopped and looked at him with an incredulous look. They had not talked, not since she had found out the truth about how he had been lying to her this whole time, and she did not know if she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I have nothing to say to you," she muttered, trying to pass by him, but he stopped her by grabbing her hand.

"Varya, you are being so unfair—"

"Unfair?" the girl thundered, suddenly overcome by immense anger. "This whole time you knew what was going on— that I literally had a parasite inside of me that was slowly killing me, and you said nothing. But then you claim to love me, right Icarus? How can you say that when you never stood up for me against Riddle?"

Icarus's face turned sour, and Varya could tell that the guilt was eating him up. As she started walking back to the castle, she could hear him trailing behind her.

"You lied to me about your feelings too— you were in love with Riddle the whole time and yet acted as if you liked me and—"

"I did like you, you absolute fool!" the girl pivoted to get up in his face, and the boy stumbled backward and landed on the ground, surprised by her sudden anger. "I did! And even after I realized whom I loved, I still made an effort for you— because I cared! Yes, I was selfish. Big fucking surprise, it comes with the package! But there is a difference between that and what you did to me. I assume responsibility for my actions, and I was honest with you when I realized things were getting out of hand; meanwhile, you and your friends kept messing with my mind repeatedly this past year just to weaponize me. You let Elladora poison me, you let Rosier invite me to alert Grindelwald of my presence, and then you let Riddle hide the truth from me. If that is how you treat those you love, Icarus, then I consider myself lucky for opening my eyes!"

The boy looked away in shame, fumbling to put his thoughts in words and justify his actions, even though he knew she was right. Icarus had always said he loved her, that he would protect her, and yet when it mattered most, he had let Tom control her.

"But you still treat the rest well! You hang out with Avery, you talk with Nott and Rosier, in some way, even Riddle. Why do they get a pass, and I do not? That is not fair, Varya," he tried to explain, but the girl only grew more furious.

"Well, you know what, Lestrange? Life is not fucking fair, my magic is literally a barrel that combusts at my own feelings, and I cannot help it that I am disappointed in you more than them, that I thought highly of you. You think I did not know Avery was always raising his knife to my back? That Rosier was digging up dirt on me? I did! That is why it did not hurt when I found out. But you? I expected better from you."

"Then, how do I make it up to you?" he asked as he scrambled to get up, dusting his uniform and looking in Varya's fuming face.

"You do not."

She turned around, trying to tame the rage that was swirling inside of her, and left the boy to stand there despite the guilt that she felt. Varya wished that she was the kind of person that saw both sides of the story, that let herself be rational enough to realize that the boy had a point— she was way harsher on him than the rest.

However, feelings, especially the negative ones, never really made sense, and she could not control them. Humans tended to hold grudges against those that wronged them, more so when they were not expected, and she just happened to fall for the weakness of mortal wrath.

The girl missed the days where she had been stone-cold, so much so that she was not aware of what friendship, love, or trust was. Simpler days, less heartache to deal with. And then Tom Riddle just had to twist her world.

***

The backstage should have been lively— actors should have been running around in panic, the set-designers should have been chasing them, and trying to get them to fit into their costumes, Professor Beery should have been giving motivational speeches. But it was not like that. Everyone was quiet. They all watched the mess of red hair, and tanned hands cause havoc in the dressing room, trashing everything in anger and grief, screaming that she did not want to go on stage, not when her friend had just been murdered.

Elladora threw a chair across the room, almost decapitating Frederick Weasley in the process, but Varya managed to change its path in the last second with a charm. The boy sent her a thankful gaze, and she nodded in understanding.

There was not much any of them could say for fear of being disrespectful to the dead and the grieving. Only Ivy Trouche stood spitefully at the make-up mirror, brushing blonde locks with a treacherous smirk of noncompliance, and Varya could tell it was some sort of revenge for the suspicious letter she had found some time ago.

However, Selwyn did not take to it kindly, and she immediately spat at her roommate, "How can you sit there so poised? Someone died."

"Perhaps, Selwyn, karma has decided to pay you a visit finally," Ivy said over her shoulder, eyes carrying the sort of mischief that was so characteristic of the Knights— but not of her, never of her. Varya parted her lips in astonishment, the girl's insensitiveness catching her off-guard.

"Ivy," the Eastern girl breathed, and with small steps, she reached her friend and put a warning hand on her shoulder, "Do not say such things, not even in anger. We do not speak of the dead in such ways."

Varya had been taught to respect those who had perished before her, as Eastern culture cherished spiritualism to the point of fanaticism, and knew that speaking ill of a soul could easily result in them not being able to pass to the other realm. She only hoped Lopheus Evergreen had had more friends than enemies, and that his journey would be a calm one.

Ivy stiffened, then glanced at Elladora, who was fuming at her previous words, but refused to apologize, and instead sent a small prayer to the departed soul.

Professor Beery entered the room in a hurry, then his face blanched at the disaster, and he immediately instructed everyone to get in their positions, as they only had half an hour before the play would start. Varya could not help but pity the man who was only directing this out of passion and hoped that Hogwarts would welcome the addition of a theatre department.

He called for Varya, and sent her to the back, where Kettleburn and Felix were trying to cage some sort of serpentine being, with thin and pale-gray scales, and Varya frowned at the sight. They had told her that she was to handle worms, not Ashwinders.

"Varya, so glad you are here! Come, come!" the Care for Magical Creatures Professor urged, and Felix gave her a whimsical smile as she looked down at the cage, "Now, I want you to take care of this until the play begins. They are very tricky beings, Ashwinders, and will immediately evade if given a chance. They only live for one hour and do not let it lie any eggs, or we might find ourselves imploding."

"But, Professor, what happened to the worms we had been practicing with?" the girl inquired, unsure of what to do. She had never handled an Ashwinder, and today was certainly not the day to be given such a task. All throughout rehearsal, they had been using a different kind of creature for the second scene.

"Professor Beery thought they did not look intimidating enough, so we opted for this snake and its red eyes. Marvelous, is it not? Now, just cast an Engorgement Charm on it before it goes up." Kettleburn said excitedly. Then, he turned and saw one of his Nifflers try to sneak in a necklace from the crew, before running after it in exasperation. "No! Pickles, put that down right now!"

"Brilliant," smiled Felix, although he was biting back a laugh at the girl's discomfort. "I will leave you to it, then. I must take my seat in the crowd and watch."

Parkin gave Varya a small salute, then pulled the curtains to the sides and made his way to the crowd. The girl stood awkwardly in her spot, unsure of what to do with the creature as she picked up the cage, and when it hissed at her, she hissed right back.

The actors started coming to the stage, and Beery signaled that there were five minutes before the curtain rose, so Varya wished everyone good luck and went to the side, where there was a trap door through which the Ashwinder was supposed to rise on the stage.

She sat on the ground, cage by her side, and let her mind drift to Lopheus Evergreen yet again. It pained her, it truly did, and she wondered what had actually happened to him. Perhaps, sometime during summer, she would be able to visit Sweeden and look for some sort of clue— see if it tied to Grindelwald or had just been an unfortunate accident.

The girl grabbed at the curtain, then peeked through the opening at the crowd, and her eyes immediately found Riddle standing with Icarus and Rosier in the back row. He had a book in his hand, and he was wearing the school's sweater with no dress shirt underneath, revealing his collarbones. His curls were yet again a mess, and he looked like he had stepped out of the shower and just thrown on some clothes, not investing any energy in preparing for the play. Riddle did not need to make an effort, however, as his charm dominated above all else, and Varya felt a twinge at her guts when a few girls behind him giggled as he leaned in his seat.

Almost as if sensing eyes on him, he immediately looked in her direction, and Varya gulped at the way her heart jumped, and pulled the curtain closed to hide her flustered face. Then, slowly, she peeked through again, hoping to catch another glance at the boy without being noticed. Azure clashed against onyx, and her heart swelled when she saw the boy's amused face at her actions, one corner of his lips slightly turned upwards.

A bell sounded through the salon, and Varya scurried backward as the curtain rose for the first act. A fifth-year Hufflepuff by the name of Naramir Borgin was to recite the story as the actors played out the scenes, and Varya took a second to analyze her. She was petite, with tanned skin and long, dark hair that fell in waves, and she had the kind of look to her that stood out amongst the students of Hogwarts. Her voice was what was captivating above all, though, and as she raised her wand to her mouth to amplify her sound, the crowd fell below a hush.

"High on a hill in an enchanted garden, enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed The Fountain of Fair Fortune. Once a year, between the hours of sunrise and sunset on the longest day, a single unfortunate was given the changes to fight their way to the Fountain, bathe in its water, and receive Fair Fortune forevermore." It was as if honey had dripped from Heaven right down her throat, and everyone listened eagerly to the leader of the Toad Choir as she spoke in velvet timbre.

The actors stepped on stage, and even from the side, Varya could see the redness that contoured Selwyn's eyes and the absolute distaste in Ivy's as she glanced at her roommate. The narrator introduced each character, and all of the girls looked as somber as the night— witches that had succumbed to heartbreak, illness, and misfortune. They were impressive, Varya had to admit, and although she knew Elladora's mind was still plagued with grief, the girl did her best to look stricken by malady.

The Eastern witch glanced back at the crowd, hoping to catch sight of Riddle watching the play. To her surprise, Egyptian blue irises were only trained on her, and the girl shifted on her feet as she felt the weight of his gaze, yet her abdomen fluttered with the sensation of razor-winged butterflies. He was so absolutely captivating, and right then and there, the girl felt her apocalyptic love collapse in on itself— her heart belonged to him wholly despite all, and she wanted to curse herself for it. Tom leaned in, almost as if drawn to her, and Varya held his stare until both felt their minds buzz with some sort of feeling neither could describe.

"And so the three witches and the forlorn knight ventured forth into the enchanted garden, where rare herbs, fruit, and flowers grew in abundance on either side of the sunlit paths. They met no obstacle until they reached the foot of the hill on which the Fountain stood. There, however, wrapped around the base of the hill, was a monstrous white Worm, bloated and blind. At their approach, it turned a foul face upon them, and uttered the following words—"

Varya cursed herself for being entirely out of it and hurried to take the caged Ashwinder to the trap, shoving it, then casting a fast growing charm on it right before it raised to the stage. The snake hissed impatiently, and then slithered on the floor before stopping and raising his head to the actors.

The narrator continued to tell the story, but Varya was anxiously bitting at her short nails as she watched the snake start hissing loudly, and Weasley step away from it in worry. The actors had probably not been notified that there had been a change with the creatures, and they exchanged looks with each other in queasiness.

Then, someone dropped something in the crowd, and everyone turned to look at Alphard Black as he was trying to collect his camera from the ground. Ivy, however, was sent over the edge as she noticed that he had been taking a picture of Selwyn, and threw her probes to the ground.

"You little cow! I am quite over your endless meddling with my affairs," she yelled at Elladora, who took a step back at the unexpected outburst. She glanced at the crowd, who had fallen silent and was now watching the exchange.

"Uh— Ivy, this is not the place nor the—"

"No! I could care less. Let everyone see what a little bloodsucking creature you are and how you seduced my boyfriend just because you wanted to get back at me for having the lead role. Get over yourself for once and accept that you will always be second!"

Then, Trouche took out her wand and shot a quick hex to her roommate, who barely managed to block it, and she screamed and fell into the rows of chairs, dress rumbled, and hair flying around. Elladora gripped one of the chairs, then sent her own jinx towards Ivy, who deflected it. Unfortunately, she miscalculated the direction, and it hit Professor Beery full on. He yelped as his head began to grow three times its size, and the commotion agitated the Ashwinder, who started slithering around the room.

Varya stood in her spot petrified, unsure what to do as she watched her roommates engage in a cruel duel, the snake make its way into the screaming crowd, and her Herbology teacher cry as he tried to keep his gigantic head upright.

Then, a loud booming sound resonated through the room, and the students turned to look at the trap door that had just caught fire— the Ashwinder had laid its eggs there, and they had combusted as Varya had been too distracted by Riddle to freeze them in time. The flames quickly engulfed the stage, and the actors screamed bloody murder as they hopped off.

Students began running to the one exit door of the amphitheater, and they pushed and pulled each other to avoid the snake that was still moving around, trying to clasp its fangs at their legs. Then, it started making its way back to the stage, and Varya felt her legs stick to the ground as it approached— almost as if someone had charmed her unable to move.

The girl pulled at her feet, and frantic eyes searched the room that had almost emptied, and she glanced at the fire as it approached her, then fell backward in panic with her soles still glued to the wooden floor of the stage.

"Bloody hell," she screamed as the creature towered over her, fangs shining in the flames' light, and just as they were about to sink in her face, the Ashwinder stopped and turned around. A hissing noise sounded through the room, and the snake seemed to be entranced by it.

Varya looked over the monster's frame and saw Riddle run towards her, mouth scurrying as he muttered a serpentine sound, and he jumped on stage and quickly pulled the girl in his arms, hoisting her up and hopping right back down just as the fire completely covered the stage, taking the Ashwinder with it.

They burst through the door as Albus Dumbledore made his way to the scene and sent a jet of water to the room, and Varya coughed as the smoke irritated her lungs, clinging to Riddle's sweater as the boy carried her toward the end of the hall and let her down gently.

"For a powerful witch, I have sure saved you one too many times from fires and creatures," his voice was raspy, and he smelled of woody smoke as he stood by her, eyes analyzing her face. Tom was as impassive as always, and yet he had done something she did not believe suited his nature. Tom Riddle did not save people; he only let them perish, and yet he had done it for her multiple times.

She made to answer with a snarky remark, but her throat closed from the irritation, and the girl fell in another fit of coughing. Her eyes watered, and she struggled to breathe, so Tom conjured a glass of water and handed it to her. Varya gulped it down greedily, then wiped her mouth dry.

"I never asked you to," the girl mumbled bitterly, and yet she looked up at him with calm eyes.

"So, I should just let you burn alive?"

"Would sure save me much trouble," Varya scoffed, then used the wall as support to get up, "Besides, I am sure you have imagined many ways to kill me before."

"I have."

He blinked at her monotonously.

Varya snorted, "You sure do know how to charm a girl."

"Why would I try to charm you?" Tom asked, hoisting an eyebrow at her statement, and then he saw the hurt flash in the girl's eyes.

"Nevermind."

Varya threw her head back against the wall and breathed in deeply, then looked toward the amphitheater where more and more professors were battling the ongoing fire. Then, with as much calmness as she could, she turned to Riddle.

"Why do you keep doing it, anyway? You did not care enough about me dying to tell me about the Obscurus— none of you did, really. I could have spent the rest of my days not even knowing what I was," Varya said, trying to catch the boy's eyes and see at least some kind of guilt in them. And yet, he remained stoic.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice smooth, "There was a reason we did not tell you— it would have wrecked your body completely. It had to come out slowly, and then we were growing impatient and curious. We thought we might be wrong, so we tried to rile you up. I did not expect you would blow up like that."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, "Because you were completely thinking about my well-being while doing that. If that was really a concern, none of you should have awakened anything, to begin with. You did it knowing it would kill me."

"It does not have to kill you. I have been doing my own research on this topic for a while, more so after I found about your condition. And after I succeed, you can easily follow my steps, Petrov."

She raised an eyebrow at that, "What are you talking about?"

Tom threw a look over his shoulder, then cleared his throat and looked her in the eye, "Horcruxes."

Varya gasped, and immediately scrambled to get up and away from the sociopath. He could not seriously be implying that she should— no, no, she would never. Or would she? No. The witch might have been as morally gray as the dust that settled on Hogwarts' towers, and yet she was not cruel enough to kill an innocent person so that she could live.

Tom scowled at her reaction. He had expected something different, some kind of gratitude for his plan. Why was she not delighted that he was offering her a chance to join him in immortality? It was not something many would know of, and yet he was openly sharing his secrets with her— the authentic recipe behind unimaginable power. Sure, he might have been doing it because he wanted her to be a force of nature by his side, and Riddle thought she could become a fine weapon in his belt, but should Varya not be grateful?

"I am not killing someone just so I can live," the girl hissed at him, then turned around the corner to head back to the Dungeons. He paced right behind her.

"That is ridiculous. People like you and I are well above the rest, and we deserve to reform the worlds with our idealism and power. It is a small price to pay for what is right," he growled, and his skin buzzed with annoyance at her refusal. He had never had to deal with someone rejecting him.

Varya pivoted on her feet and faced him, finger poking his chest aggressively, and she raised her voice at him, "And what if it is not enough, Riddle? What if you find yourself enjoying it a little too much, and it becomes a nasty, wicked habit? Do you truly think I could live while knowing I am a shell of emptiness and despair? And anyhow, I do not understand why you are so vehement on assuring that I do not perish."

"Because I do not want you to die!" he thundered.

Tom's voice ricocheted off the walls of the empty corridor, and then reticence fell between the two as they processed his words. Their breaths synced in a cloud of confusion and anguish, and the two watched each other with astonishment.

Varya's heart swelled at the words. They might not have meant much coming from other people, those sane enough to realize that not wanting someone to die was a normal thing— but this was Tom Riddle. He was a sociopath, was he not? He did not care if those around him came and went like the stormy Scottish clouds in spring, nor if they withered like roses that had been plucked from warm soil. Tom enjoyed chaos; he relished in the way life never violated entropy and always seemed to crumble in a mess of ash and smoke. But not her. Never her.

Riddle himself was trying to piece together the words he had said, and his thoughts were a jumble of uncertainty and loathing in juxtaposition— the kind of confusion never came easily to him, as he was always in balance with himself. Did he truly not want her to die? Why?

Some part of him tried to convince the boy that it was because she was such a valuable thing to have— the kind of power many do not live to see. And yet, it was not just her Obscurus, but the girl herself that he could not imagine not being around. Varya had to be there; she had to pester him whenever he got too arrogant; she had to put a knife to his throat when he treated those around him with too much venom.

That was not something he could admit to himself, though. So Tom narrowed his eyes at the girl and huffed aggressively before he pushed past her and entered the Common Room without another word.