NOTE: I was not going to publish this until tomorrow or Tuesday, but then I got bored and I realized I wanted to see everyone's reaction and comments to this chapter. So yes, enjoy and please do let me know what you think.

THE ANATOMY OF VARYA PETROV - ?????

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ivan patted her burning skin with a cold towel that he had stolen from Lawrence's bag, then dipped in the water that was slowly dripping from the pipes of the building. She had been aching throughout the whole night, and he had to hold her down multiple times and stop her from exploding with magic that had been suppressed for so long.

"It is eating me alive," Varya breathed, feeling the way the shadows of the room moved with every word she muttered. "You know I am going to die. Dalibor said it himself; I will not make it past the age of fourteen at this point, not at the rate it is consuming me."

"You will," came the voice of Ecaterina as she moved in her bed. She had been there the least of all of them, and yet was the weakest, "All they have to do is erase your memories again. If you do not remember what they did to you, it cannot cling to your feelings."

"But it keeps breaking through," Varya wheezed as Ivan tried to get her to sit against the wall, "Every few years, it starts breaking through. And when I remember, it unleashes. They said I killed half of the staff at the castle last time, and I—"

"You are not going to die," Ivan's rough voice sounded through the room. He had stayed awake to take care of his two friends, who had both fallen ill due to the continuous testing. "None of us will die. We will see the sunrise again; we will see our families."

"I do not have a family," Varya remarked bitterly. "I thought I had a caretaker. She was merely fiction, some kind of imagery they put in my brain to hide the years of torture."

"Then, you will see the sunrise."

"I like thinking about those things, you know," answered Ecaterina before she spluttered in a fit of coughs. Varya tried to stay positive, imagine a world where the girl could survive, but she would not make it through the week. She had a few days, at most. "Before I got sent away, my mum always made me cherry pies for my birthday. I did not like them, but I think I would eat them well now. However, now they think I am dead, and how do I come back from that?"

"My parents think I am still getting an education here," muttered Ivan as he made his way to the other girl, and ripped a rag off of the sheets. He used it to tie the girl's hair, make her feel better as she— no, she could not die. She was too young. He shook that thought away. "I mean, why should they think otherwise? Dalibor has us in here for months to no end, then sends us out with our memories wiped. Then, we come back here, and he breaks everything down through torture. He likes playing this game, I think. I suspect he has long given up on his experiments; now, he does it for fun. But when I go back home during the holidays, I cannot tell my parents what goes on. I have started leaving myself small messages, things to jog up my memory when I go back up. My girlfriend, Lydia, I think she is keeping track of everything. And when she figures everything out, she will let us know."

"I do not get it," Varya's voice croaked, and she stuck her tongue out to feel how dry it was. "Why am I different? They only have me in here when my barriers break."

"Because they know that you would destroy everything in your way if they got you too mad. They cannot risk cracking you completely, especially not when Grindelwald has his eyes on them," explained Ivan before he threw himself in his own battered bed, looking up at the ceiling and counting the number of dead flies in the spider webs. It was the game they liked to play every night before bed, and whoever lost had to take care of the group the next day.

"I wish they would stop making us forget each other. I always feel like something is missing whenever I go back to the surface," tried Ecaterina. In her mind, she was trying to cheer them up, but the tragedy of their situation only made the ache throb.

"What do you remember that was real, anyway?"

Varya thought for a second, playing with the strings that were coming off of her shirt, "I remember seeing my parents die. I remember Grindelwald locking me up in that stupid castle for years and telling me not to use my magic because it would get me into trouble. And then he sent me here, and they held me for a while until I was supposed to attend school. I guess that is when they started messing with my memories, and well, I am not sure now."

"I still do not understand how it works."

"Neither do I," sighed Varya, "All I know is that as long as I cannot think of the pain, I cannot feel it. And if I cannot feel, it will not awake."

Silence fell between the three of them, and they counted the flies. Varya won, and Ecaterina came last, but they all knew she was in no condition to do anything. So Ivan traded places with her, saying she will cover for him next week. She would not make it into the next week.

"Ivan, Varya?" Ecaterina called out into the night.

"Yes?" Varya asked, although she could tell by the tremor in the girl's voice that she would not like what she had to say.

"If I die—"

"You will not."

"But if I do," said the witch, "Remember me, yeah? Maybe not in the next few years, but eventually, when you get out of here. Go tell my parents that I loved them and that I wish things did not end up like this. Fight against the barriers, Varya is proof that they can be undone. And then, when the time comes, burn this school to the ground."

***

With each memory that Varya was uncovering, she felt as if she was losing herself more and more. Her personality, her beliefs, and her experiences had determined her spectrum of emotions, and, realistically speaking, there had always been a missing part of her.

She saw the world through glasses that had been fogged by something mystifying and had no actual concept of what other people felt. When she had left Scholomance, Varya Petrov was merely a shell, a barrel of negative emotions that were starting to creek from pressure, and there was only a matter of time before she would have combusted with fire and chaos.

Now, all she needed was a catalyst, and Tom Riddle would make sure he was exactly that.

The girl had visited the Ravenclaw Chamber and had brought her textbooks in hopes of studying for her exams. The month of March had almost passed them, and soon they would be going away for their spring break. When they came back, however, they would be taking their O.W.L.s, and the girl wanted to make sure that her grades remained pristine.

Icarus had come to study with her despite her constant words of rebuttal. She thought they needed time away from each other, whereas the boy believed that being in her presence would help him move on. It made no sense, and yet Varya could not bring herself to contradict him, as she felt guilty enough for what she had done.

To make things smoother, they had made Abraxas Malfoy join them, despite the fact that the boy was now balancing his quill on his nose rather than doing his homework. There was slight awkwardness in the room, as the three of them were not the closest of the pack, and it only grew stronger once Tom Riddle barged into the room.

Tom approached her, sovereign look on his face, "I must speak to you." The girl nodded, and when she did not make to move, he narrowed his eyes in distaste, then flashed them to Icarus, "In private."

With a deep sigh, she lifted her body off the divan and followed the Slytherin prefect outside of the room and into the owlery. Although March had brought a warmer breeze, the Western Tower was still chilly, and Varya felt goosebumps on her legs. With horror, she realized she had forgotten to pull up her socks up once again, and flushed as Tom gazed at her scrambling to correct her outfit. If he thought anything of it, he did not let know.

"I need you to come in the Forbidden Forest with me," he cut to the chase, ignoring the way the girl's eyes enlarged at the idea. He knew that she had not visited the forest since killing the Thestral, but he wanted to test something, and the only way to do it was to bring her back to where it all started.

"You are insane if you think I would come with you there," the girl snorted and tried to make her way past him, but Riddle grabbed her arm and dragged her, quickly pushing her back before releasing it.

"That was an order," he pronounced, and his jaw set in nuisance when she only rolled her eyes at his words, not caring much for his authority.

"And I cannot bring myself to imagine whatever it was that gave you the impression that you can order me around," Varya spat acidly, resenting the way they were getting in another fight for no reason. He was so infuriating, and she did not know whether she wanted to punch him in the face or— "And anyhow, I cannot help you. I know your mind only cares about one thing, but I actually need to study for my exams, and Icarus is waiting for me."

That was a lie, but she was too shameless to admit that the notion of being with Icarus did not bring her as much joy as it should have, more so when the guilt began spreading around her body like rust on a machine, yet Varya wanted to irk a reaction out of Riddle.

The boy, however, only gave her a spine chilling glare, something between irritation and confusion, "You are such a disappointment. I thought that by letting you in on my plans, you would acknowledge your potential and rise to the occasion, be the witch you were meant to be, and yet you are just like the rest of those mindless buffoons."

"Oh, please. Shove your opinion of me up your arse, Riddle."

Terrible idea.

"Levicorpus!"

Varya yelped as she felt her legs fall beneath her, then suddenly they were in the air, and she was trashing against an invisible force that had her hoisted upside down, raven ponytail skimming against the owlery floor.

"You bastard!"

"Watch your tongue, Petrov," Riddle sighed and watched with an amused smirk as she continued to dangle in the air, hands waving around in an attempt to claw at him. To spite her even more, the boy approached her, barely so, and stood right outside her radius so that no matter how much she tried, she could not grab him.

"Get me down!"

"No."

"I will chop your head off and feed it to the trolls, you repulsive serpent. Merlin, my head is spinning— get me down, Riddle."

He tilted his head and blinked at her slowly, then pushed against her forehead and made her swing back and forth. Varya gasped in frustration as she felt the dizziness grow stronger with each second, and she cursed herself for not knowing the counter spell to the jinx.

She yelled after him as he turned his back and left down the stairs, leaving her there to hang for the next person that decided to send a letter to their parents, or for Icarus to rescue when he realized the girl had been gone for too long.

Ironically, it had actually been Malfoy that walked out to look for them, and when he saw her hanging with a frown on her face, he threw his head back in a hearty laugh, "He could have done worse."

"I am literally hanging upside down, Malfoy. A few more minutes and I would rupture a vessel in my brain," remarked Varya as she felt the blood flow to her head, then grabbed his shoulders as he helped her down and muttered the counter-spell.

Varya thanked the boy swiftly, then proceeded to run down the stairs and find Riddle, hellbent on confronting him and hexing his nose off, and yet as she turned the corner and entered the fourth-floor corridor, she saw Riddle leaning against a wall, arms crossed as he watched other students pass by.

She stopped in her tracks, and when he gave her a satisfied smirk and hoisted an eyebrow, Varya realized that this was his way of getting her to follow him. Her goddamned heart drummed at the sight, and she ignored the heat under her collar as she approached his arrogant figure.

"Took you long enough," his voice was as neutral as always, and then he motioned for her to follow him down one of the staircases. Varya stood still for a second, mind on the evening she had promised Lestrange, and then something pushed her to walk forward and follow the prefect into the courtyard.

The West Tower overlooked the Forbidden Forest, so high up in the clouds that one could skim the edge of the trees and catch a glimpse of creatures peeking their heads out. The sky was clear that evening, and as the twilight took over the rocky edges that Hogwarts stood on, Icarus breathed heavily as he saw the girl he loved saunter into the woods with Tom Riddle yet again; his heart twisted, and he blinked away the repulsive stinging in his eyes.

It hurt profoundly, and he wanted to curse the skies for having him fall for someone like her, who, despite all his efforts, only had eyes for another person. And yet, Lestrange could not bring himself to forget her. A part of him still thought there was a chance that one day, Varya might share his appreciation. Until then, however, he lived with the torment of barely having her.

Varya, on the other hand, was excusing her behavior by convincing herself that she would be back by nightfall, and then the two could finish their studies and rekindle whatever dysfunctional friendship they had had. The relationship was very odd, as it had been strained by their break-up, and the girl only wished they could go back to being platonically close.

She had enjoyed the kisses, the affection, but when it came down to returning the deep emotion, she could not help but take a step away from Icarus.

Tom led them to the deeper part of the forest, and Varya recognized it was around that area that the mavka had come to her, and shuddered at the memory. She had not been getting any closer to figuring out what had been attracting so many creatures to the western coast of Europe, but truthfully, there had been so much going on that she did not know what to focus on first.

"Why did you bring me out here, Tom?" Varya asked once the boy stopped in front of a tree. He turned around to look at her, eyes analyzing every twitch in her body, every pull of her lips, and then he responded.

"I want you to join the Knights."

The ground beneath her seemed to rattle, and Varya held her breath, waiting for the other part of his statement to hit, and when that did not come, she let herself exhale. Her mind twirled at high speeds, and she felt the defining moment in time almost grasp at her edges. Tom walked to her slowly, arms clasped behind his back, and he stopped right in front of her figure, head slightly bent as he towered over her.

"Why?" she inquired softly, not knowing what to make of it. The witch knew that it could be another part of his plot, a way to make her let her guard down definitely, and yet her skin buzzed at the idea.

Tom licked his lips; then, his head turned away from her as he looked around the forest carefully, scanning the surroundings to make sure nobody had followed them. He pondered for a second on how to answer her question, knowing that if the girl knew the real reason behind his invitation, she would not be accepting it. He had to deceive her, make her think she was part of his group, and lure her into opening the tunnels of her power. Then, he could harness it, and with her by his side, nothing would ever stop the Knights of Walpurgis.

"You are wiser than most," he began, and it was not a lie— the girl had a mind almost as sharp as his, and if she would ever allow herself to think rationally, put her emotions in a tightly sealed box as he had, Varya could become a force of catastrophic proportions.

"Surely, you do not believe I would fall for that," she jeered, eyebrows going up in ridicule as her eyes fell in an eagle look, "Many are wise, Tom. Few join your ranks."

"Few have the bravery to stand up against immorality, Petrov. Few are the men and women who are willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause they believe in, especially one as strenuous as mine," he said aggressively as he moved around her slowly, head tilted at an angle and expression alive with wrath, "The wizarding world has been corrupted by cowardly and faint-hearted sorcerers, and men like Dumbledore deny their capabilities in favor for their own comfort. I want greatness, and I am offering you a chance to stand by my side as I conquer lands that have had no master, as I bring Hell down on those who oppose me."

"You are still failing to say why you want me to join you," scoffed Varya, eyes trailing his figure with characteristic recalcitrance. "It seems to me you are hiding behind white lies, Riddle."

He growled before starting toward her, loathing the way her refusal stung his pride. Could she not see the honor that was being bestowed upon her? Tom felt the need to grab her throat, and squeeze the acceptance out of her until her mind was so dizzy from lack of air that it would only bow to him.

"More so, who says I would want to stay in your shadow, Riddle?" she jeered as she approached him slowly, swinging her body in ridicule, "If I am so wise and brave, why not just...do it myself?"

"You cannot truly believe that you would ever be a challenge, Petrov. I would crush you like a filthy little roach," he growled, taking a few steps back to put distance between them.

The wind howled as the tension rose, and Varya felt her blood pump faster through her body as the absolute fury at his words settled in. That arrogant, impertinent wizard, who always thought he was untouchable and above any harm, was now challenging her in ways nobody else ever had.

"You want to test that, half-blood?"

And with that, Tom cast his first curse towards her, and Varya threw herself to the ground just as the spell whizzed past her ear, not expecting him to combust out of anger. She rolled to her side as the boy sent another spell her way, his forehead tensed in wrath as he continued advancing toward her, much as the general of an army would.

Varya scrambled to her feet, then ran behind a tree as the boy blasted the ground beneath her, and in her hurry to get away from his maddened anger, erupting with the most vicious jinxes and hexes.

"Hiding already, Petrov?" He spat from the clearing, and Varya felt her body shake as she realized she had acted too rashly. She looked around quickly, taking note of her surroundings. There was not much to work with, but as her eyes scanned the ground, she noticed the multitude of sharpened rocks, Tom Riddle might have been a beast in western martial magic, but Varya had her eastern tricks up her sleeve. "Come out and play, do not disappoint me like this, dear."

With an agile twirl, the girl hurried from behind the tree, and sent the rocks toward the boy in a tsunami of daggers, and Tom yelled with fury as one pebble dashed at his skin before he could put his shield up. She had been the first to draw blood, and that would not go without punishment.

Riddle was the next to act, and he sent another blasting spell, this time at the tree behind her, and an enormous branch dropped over the girl, sending her to the ground in a matter of second. Varya had thrown herself backward to avoid it, and yet it had still caught her leg and crushed it.

"Fuck," she screamed, tears pooling in her eyes at the pain; the wizard was insane, she did not realize they would be dueling to this extent, where they actually injured each other. Varya barely managed to counter-spell as the boy send another stinging jinx her way.

"God, you are a coward," he sneered, and then he came to her and pressed his foot on the branch, pushing it harder against the injured leg, and Varya cried in torment as she felt her bone break through her skin. "Where is that mighty pride now, Petrov? Calling me a half-blood as if you dared look down on me. Perhaps, I have been too nice to you, too welcoming, and it is time I show you what—"

He was blasted away, hitting a nearby massive rock with his back, head colliding with the hard surface, and he felt the world go blank for a second as he groaned in pain. Their surroundings had grown dark as the sky covered in gloomy clouds, and the wind had begun to swirl, making the trees sway around like they were grass in the softest breeze.

Tom opened his eyes just in time to see a whole tree trunk hauled at him, and he rolled off of the rock and fell to the side, hands gripping at the grass as he tried to steady himself and get back on his feet. Varya had recovered, and although she still stood on the ground, bone cracked through flesh, she had a ravenous desire for retaliation in her eyes.

She waved her hand over her leg speedily, and Tom smirked as her wound healed fastly, bone popping back in black with a loud crack and skin sewing itself together. There she was, little innovating witch. Now, he only had to push a little harder, and he would have her right where he wanted.

He pressed his hand to the ground and felt it rattle beneath his frame, and then it split in two as the roots of trees swirled in the air, sharp and heavy, and Riddle flicked his wrist as they surged toward the Slavic girl that was still trying to get up.

Varya growled with frustration as she barely managed to overpower his hold on the roots, and the two stared at each other as they battled for dominance over the element, minds clashing and hands raised in the air.

"That is enough, Riddle!" screeched the girl, wanting to end this before one of them got seriously hurt. The boy, however, only gave her a wicked smile before dropping his hold on the trees and sending another hex her way, this one hitting her at full force, and she felt her body fly through the clearing before thumping the edge of the river.

The spluttering current sent ripples of water to her face, and she groaned as her body ached. She would surely bruise and would have to ask Icarus for help in healing all of them. The sound of the water flow filled her ears, clashing against the ringing of her cochlea being rattled, and the witch slowly lifted from the gritty bank.

Riddle made his way through the trees quickly, and smirked as he saw the girl struggle in agony, delighted at having caused anguish to such a mighty witch. At the end of the day, he was still the one that dominated, as the girl was severely untrained, or something was holding her back. He had to push more.

"Riddle," Varya growled, "For the love of Merlin, stop throwing me around like a rag doll!"

She did not want to hurt the boy, she could not bear the idea of inflicting pain on him, and so she tried to get him to back down and reason, not caring about winning more than his well being. Tom, on the other hand, only raised his wand to her figure again, and before Varya could even rebuke, she felt herself hit the body of water.

Her hands and legs struggled frantically against the flow, but it was hopeless, as Riddle held her underneath the surface with his spell. She battled against the sensation of water invading her lungs, and she clasped at her throat in panic as her mind fogged with danger and terror. He was drowning her; he was actually trying to get as close to killing her as possible.

She trashed aimlessly, scared out of her mind— she lied, Varya did not want to die, especially not at his hands, and she bit back the need to scream for help. Her body was slowly sinking, pulled by the invisible force of his curse, and her hands gripped at the last few rays that reached the bottom of the river. Her eyes closed.

Tom stood on the riverbank, looking over the rush of water, wand still trained on it, and his eyes scanned its edge to see where the girl would resurface. His eyebrows furrowed, and his heart beat faster as he realized that Varya was nowhere in sight, and then he almost considered dropping the plan altogether and diving in the water to find her.

"Fucking hell," he mumbled as he realized she was not coming up. Had he messed up? He threw his wand to the ground, and hurried to take off his robe before throwing himself in the river. He quickly cast a bubble spell around his head, and swam further down.

His eyes burned as the intensity of the swirls hit them, and his hair floated around him once he dove deeper, searching the bottom for a sign of the girl. There was no indication of her, and he spun around madly, trying to spot her flowing hair.

And that was when something grabbed at his leg, and he got dragged deeper. He fought against the creature that clasped against his foot, trying to kick it away, and then it clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer.

White eyes.

Varya's face has morphed into something as sinister as the corpses that were scattered among the river's bottom, souls that had drowned in previous years, and their skeletons ornated the muddly sand. Her onyx hair swirled around her, and she gave a macabre smile before he bashed his head against the rocks that adorned the pit.

Riddle grabbed at her throat, but she only bashed his head again, cackling madly at the rouge that had started surrounding them, and she stuck her tongue out and felt its sweet, diluted taste on her buds. Then, she waved her hand with fury and sent his body upwards in a tsunami, and his figure hit the ground with a loud sound.

Tom coughed, ignoring the trails of red that had started shading his vision, and he quickly took control of his jittery hands as they touched where his blood had dripped. He had never bleed before, and it filled his being with disgust— an admittance of his mortality.

The storm had hit the ground full-on, and he raised his head to the sky as the pouring rain fell down in buckets of coldness, thunder wailing through the forest. A lightning bolt hit a tree nearby, and ravens scattered in the hurricane, covering the sky in a wave of darkened feathers— an omen of death and torture.

Riddle swallowed harshly, pushing back the thought, and turned his head just in time to see the girl's body rise from the water, slowly and sinisterly, head barely hovering over the surface, only her white eyes gazing in his direction. Her hair fell around her face, and shadows danced on her figure, and she raised a shaky hand in his direction, skin an ashen gray that resembled a corpse.

He felt himself be overcome by pain, and he groaned under her hold as every nerve in his body ticked and twisted, just like Billy Stubb's bunny had all those months ago. Blackness extended from her like smoke from a burning building, and it cackled like a whip against the ground. As much as the boy tried to fight against it, the witch just would not let her hold of him drop, and he bit back every scream as he stared at her with his veins thrumming against his skin, refusing to cower before her.

Varya's figure approached him, but her twitching face told him that the girl was long gone behind a screen of darkness, and that there was no reaching out to her senses. He had done it himself; he had known what the risks were.

And now, she was going to kill him.

A red flare shot toward the girl, sending her flying, and Nicholas Avery surfaced from the lining of the trees, wand out, and pointed in her direction. His eyes were widened, and dark hair fell over his face as the wind blew more ferociously, an apocalyptic scenery dawning over Hogwarts. Maxwell Nott stumbled right behind, and he ran to pick up Riddle from the ground as the boy was slowly losing consciousness.

"Bloody hell," cussed Avery as his eyes met Varya's blank ones, who twisted on the ground before getting back up, neck veins pulsating against her skin, and her mouth opened, letting out the darkness, "You just had to poke at it, Riddle, did you not?"

The ground burst open, and the trees started falling in heaps, aiming for the boys' heads, trying to squish them like ants. Avery sent out another spell, but it was immediately blocked by the gone witch, and she laughed madly at his pitiful attempt, "Are you going to kill me, Avery?"

Then, with a simple wave of the hand, she threw him to the side, and he barrelled against the ground until his body stopped rolling. Nicholas Avery was no longer moving.

Varya's voice had become so guttural it was painful on the ears, and Nott grimaced and covered them, trying to get the high pitch out of his brain. It was like worms had started eating at his gray matter, and he felt a sloosh in his skull, the agony intensifying by the moment. He banged at his head, then fell to his knees as he gasped for air, hands pulling at his roots until he almost outrooted his own hair. Riddle, who was barely conscious at this point, grabbed at his hands, "Stop it, Nott! You are going to claw your eyes out if you let her get in."

However, it was too late, and Maxwell's scream filled the entire forest, so soul-splitting that the villagers of Hogsmeade turned their heads to the castle, frightened as they looked at the darkened sky. The ravens continued flying above, their frightful song harmonizing with nature's furious cry. Nott was going insane, and his whole body trembled with agony as his mind filled with gruesome scenes of splattered organs and burning flesh. A man had been skinned alive; he was hanging from a tree. A woman had been nailed to a wall; her daughter was weeping. His parents, his younger sister. All dead, all butchered beyond recognition.

Varya's mad laughter resonated in the storm, and she raised her hands in the air in a soft movement as she twirled and danced to the boy's wails, head twirling, "Nott is going mad! Nott is going mad!". Her body moved slowly, delicately, and yet there was so much tumult in it.

Tom looked over at what he had done, at how he had pushed the witch's mind beyond the point of control, allowing the force inside of her to take over her being. What was most frightening was that this was not even her worst, as she was still corporeal, and although shadows and smoke danced around her, it had not been released fully.

He scrambled to find his wand, knowing that his magic was stronger when he used it, and crawled to where he had thrown it before. He felt a foot crash on his palm, and he bit back the cry of torment that bubbled, not letting the girl have her satisfaction at his pain.

Varya grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him at the ground again, then put her foot against his throat and pressed harder, wondering what it would feel like to snap his neck right there.

She leaned over Tom Riddle, who was looking at her with the uttermost loathing, and whispered in his ear, "Any last words?"

"Go to hell," he spluttered, although they were not meant for the girl herself, but to the parasite that had been eating at her soul for years, at Grindelwald who had been raising her to be nothing but a vessel for a machine, and at himself, who wanted to use her curse for his own good.

And then she plummeted a dagger to his chest.

And her Obscurus unleashed.

***

I am going to update on Tuesday or Wednesday next, I think, because I have some projects coming up. And I feel like this is the exact place of confusion where I want to leave everyone for a while.