THE ANATOMY OF LOPHEUS EVERGREEN - THE WILDCARD

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The mellow hum of a melodious voice permeated the dreary room, and Matron Lawrence wandered around with crucial steps, mopping the spilled blood that had adorned the stone ground in a dismal red. She dipped the mop in the bucket, although the water had become the same shade as the liquid on the floor, then proceeded to swipe at the crimson.

Fewer beds, fewer children. Half of them had not made it through the winter, and that was a disappointment altogether. Their weak bodies could not take the anguish, nor the torment, and the tombs continued to scatter amongst Scholomance's yard.

The woman shifted to the two children that were awake and responsive and saw them gawking at the corpse that was laid out on the surgery table, stomach open, and intestines dangling from the cavity. Oh, she had forgotten to discard that, so silly of her.

Varya blinked away the repugnance that pooled in her guts and swatted away the flies that had started buzzing around the windowless room. The metallic smell of human discomposure was predominant. Her eyes fell on the plate in front of her— stale bread and a stew that had only bone in it. She found that she was no longer hungry.

Ivan was in a similar state, and when the Matron was not looking, the girl reached out to clasp his tremulous fingers. They only had each other now, and they had to look after one another if they wanted to get through this.

The lycanthrope had been going in and out of the catacombs, more so than her, and every time he came back, he would have his memories altered. They toyed with their brains, testing various methods on both of them. Lawrence had said multiple times that if anyone were to make it through it all, it would be Ivan and Varya. They were more potent than the rest and could endure so much more.

Nevertheless, they all had their breaking point.

The door swung open, and the children detached their hands as Dalibor walked in, accompanied by a western witch dressed in exquisite clothing. He sneered at the body on the table, and with a flick of his hand, let it burst into black flames before it was gone entirely.

"I told you we had a guest; you should have prepared," he gnarled, and even with half of his face in the dark, Varya still felt her eyes water at his hideous features. He was a dark, dark man.

Lawrence apologized speedily, then pushed the bucket beneath a table. It did not do much— the room would always be filled with the metallic smell.

The western witch approached the children, and her features pulled in a tight smile. She was breathtaking, an odd addition to the macabre scenery. Varya looked at the badge on her azure robe— V.R. in a pleasant font.

"Is this the one?" her French accent made her even more alluring, and when Dalibor grunted an affirming sound, she turned to Varya. A delicate digit trailed the girl's sooty face, where dirt had started to cling to porcelain features covered in transpiration, and then she hummed in understanding. "Grindelwald wants you to block her memories, not abuse her to the point of malnourishment. Look at her—" she grabbed Varya's shirt and pulled her to her feet, then let her fall to the ground in her weak state, "— how will she lead a battle if she cannot even stand up? You know how important she is to the cause; she is not another one of your usual repulsive experiments."

Lawrence nodded quickly, eyes cast down in shame, but the Dark Priest held the witch's defiant stare, "If you put her in our care, we get to decide what happens to her. Her blood is powerful enough to—"

"I could care less. You will cease treating her as such immediately, and send her back to the surface," The woman turned to Varya, and tilted her head in discontent. "Say, child— can you perform magic?"

Varya glanced at Lawrence, who gestured forward, urging her to show her powers. The young girl nodded, then trained her eyes on a nearby chamber pot, and with a flick of the wrist, it burst into impressive dark flames. Ivan growled behind her, but a silent shake of the head told him to keep quiet.

The western witch hummed, "So then, you have achieved what Grindelwald asked of you. Send her above."

"But, Miss—"

"I do not care for your opinion, Matron," the witch bit back brutally. She made her way to the door, not even sparing a glance to anyone except Varya, "There is only one thing that matters, and that is making sure this girl survives long enough to lead our cause. For the greater good."

***

The Room of Requirement had stood as Hogwarts' most prideful secrets for decades, and those who knew of it whispered that it had been Helga Hufflepuff's ingenious creation— a room that responded to those in need. It had had many names along the years, the most recent one being the Come and Go Room, but it had changed when the Knights had taken it over. Nevertheless, the chamber should have stood pridefully in the Hogwarts castle for many more years, had it not been for Varya Petrov burning it to the ground.

Tom Riddle watched as the flames approached them in a fury, and his eyes flashed back to the girl that was now bleeding over him steadily, cackling madly as she watched her crimson liquid spill on their conjoined hands.

He tried pulling the knife away, but her grip was firm, and he breathed heavily as he schemed a way to escape. He had little time left, the room would soon turn to ash before his eyes, and so he did the most rational thing he could, despite knowing that the girl would hate him the next morning.

"Imperio!"

His curse hit the girl fastly, and he immediately ordered her to drop the knife to the floor. It clashed against the stone, and Tom took his sweater and compressed it against Varya's open wound, ignoring the way her eyes flashed between white and onyx. He hoisted her up, although, for a second, he debated just leaving the damned witch behind, then something pounded at his skull, and so he picked her up and dragged her out of the room.

He dashed out of the smoking room, letting the door slam and disappear behind him, not caring if the flames extended to the rest of the castle. Tom only cared about one thing at the moment, and it was to stop Varrya from bleeding out on him.

He entered the Slytherin Common Room, thanking Merling that it was past nighttime, and the only figure that waited for him in the chamber was Abraxas Malfoy. When he saw the bleeding girl in his leader's arms, his mind immediately assumed the worse— had Tom Riddle tried to kill Varya Petrov?

"It was not me," remarked Tom as he cast a fleet charm on the stairs to their room and carried the girl up the stairs, Malfoy right behind, "She fucking tried to slit her own throat."

"What in Merlin's name," grumbled Icarus Lestrange as he slowly woke up from his bed, the noise stirring him awake. When he saw his girlfriend's body flag in another man's arms, he immediately threw the covers to the side and rushed to pick up Varya. Tom stopped him with a scowl, and he had to watch as the girl he loved was in the care of another. "What happened?"

"What do you think, Lestrange? Use your primate brain to figure that one out," Tom nipped back, and although he was harsh on his followers, he rarely insulted them openly, preferring to inflict pain on them simply.

"It is awakening," blurted Malfoy, understanding how everything was tied up with the document Rosier had presented them. "But, how?"

"I have no clue, Malfoy," breathed Tom as he instructed Lestrange to heal the girl's wounds quickly, and Icarus sprung to action, casting as many charms as he could remember from his own battles. "Because I do not understand how it was dormant in the first place."

The door opened, and in stumbled Nicholas Avery and Renold Rosier, still tipsy from their eventful evening, and Nott followed closely behind, giving the group an apologetic look at the commotion.

"They heard Riddle's voice and wanted to come and see what was going on, idiots," mumbled Maxwell as he helped Avery slump against the wall.

"Why is Riddle's girl bleeding?" inquired Rosier cheaply, only to be struck over the head by Nott, who shot his eyes to Icarus, "I mean Lestrnage's girlfriend, sorry, you look so similar, and sometimes I mix the two of you up— a bad habit, really. Do not drink, guys. All right, I will shut up now."

The tautness between Icarus and Tom was evident, and they exchanged a brief look before going back to their task— helping Varya. Icarus had to bite back the distress, as he knew that he could not stand up against his Lord, and yet the moist eyes were a telling of his misfortune. He was not as blind as they all thought him to be, he saw the way Varya would glance at Tom, but he had tricked himself into thinking it was merely fascination for his character, the same way that Selwyn appreciated Riddle.

However, that did not explain how they always gravitated towards each other, and while he knew that Tom did not love the girl, something told Icarus that he had already lost the battle for her affection. How amusing it was, that he loved someone that was aiming for another person, who, in turn, did not love her.

"Shut up, rascals," groaned Avery, then pointed at the witch's body, "She is waking up anyway."

Sure enough, Varya's eyes flew open, and she gasped for air as her whole body shut up, lungs still filled with the fire's smoke. She scrambled off of the bed and onto the floor, coughing madly as her air ducts constricted and relaxed repeatedly.

"What did you do to me?" she challenged Riddle, voice raspy from the smog.

The boy scoffed, "I did nothing! You are the one who put a knife against your own throat and told me—" He stopped as he felt five pairs of eyes watching him. Tom did not want to discuss this in their prying presence, and so he simply gnarred and twisted around to leave the room. The door slammed behind him.

Varya looked after him with aversion and yearning, unsure of whether to follow him or not, but Abraxas was more agile. The Malfoy heir left the room, shooting the girl a prying glance before he closed the door. The rest of the boys looked at Icarus, who simply nodded his head for them to leave the couple alone, and so Maxwell groaned and picked the boys up off of the floor.

"All right, the spectacle is over. Back to bed, you imbeciles," he announced as he pushed them out, then turned around to give Varya one last look, almost a goodnight. Perhaps the girl was growing on him.

With only Lestrange and Petrov left in the room, the tension seemed to disperse, and warm arms embraced the girl. She let herself fall back in the comfort that was Icarus Lestrange, and clung on his gray sleepwear with a need for stability. He lowered his head and pressed a chaste kiss on her burning forehead, moving the strands of hair that had stuck to her cheeks away so that he could get a better look at her.

Something had changed about the girl's appearance, almost as if the distress had made her age by a few years, and had stolen a piece of her beauty. He told himself he did not mind, although he found it strange, but he could not deny the truth. Icarus had grown to love her regardless of that, and so when he brought her to lay on his bed for rest, he did not mind the dead eyes that stared at him in appreciation.

The boy knew that he should have been questioning her, asking what had happened between Tom and her, and yet he feared it might push Varya further away from him, so he only skimmed her cheeks with his fingers, trying his best to keep silent on the matter.

Varya, on the other hand, was lost in her thoughts, almost oblivious to her boyfriend's tender touch, as she tried to recall what she had said. The witch remembered the beer, and the conversation they had had— how Tom desired immortality, and how he was set on achieving it. She had pressed a knife to his neck yet again after he had tried to strangle her, but what had she done after that?

Her hand flew to the skin on her neck, where the smallest scar had begun to form, and it itched severely, so she scratched, pulling at the closing skin.

"Stop that," remarked Icarus as he took her hand in his and pulled it away, and that was the catalyst that her fogged memory needed because Varya's brain was suddenly filled with the memory of Riddle's hand in hers, holding a knife.

He had been truthful with her— it was Varya that had done this to herself, and yet, at the same time, it was not her. She had not been in control of her actions, and she remembered how she had felt at that moment with repulsion. It was almost as if she was watching a movie before her eyes, and her voice had almost gone rugged at how much she had been screaming at the screen to just stop.

"I do not know what is going on with me," she told Icarus softly, and the boy sighed as he felt the guilt eat at him alive.

He knew exactly what was going on with the girl, and yet he could not bring himself to tell her because Tom was right. If Varya managed to one day control what was going on, she could be a powerful weapon above all. For that to happen, however, they needed Tom to fulfill his part of the plan. It was for the best because they all knew that if Varya found out before they managed to get what they needed, there was little chance for her survival.

Perhaps the girl was in the wrong for leading him on, that was true, and yet what he was hiding from her was much more gruesome, and if she ever found out, Icarus feared he would never be forgiven.

So he lied— again, and again, and again, "It is all right, my dear. Everything will be just fine."

***

Felix helped Varya carry a box to another corner in the theatre room, and the girl groaned as she arched her back to let it drop on the floor. She had become the apprentice of Professor Kettleburn, and the training so far had been rigorous. Silvanus Kettleburn was not your usual man, he was the odd sort, and he enjoyed endangering himself in pursuit of other magical creatures.

He had been more than delighted to have Varya assist him, and had pestered her with multiple questions on her teachings at Scholomance, how they handled such dangerous creatures that not even Newt Scamander had documented yet, and Felix could only give her a whimsical smile as he watched her fret.

Part of her had known what she was getting herself into, and yet it has still been exhausting to keep up with the man as he ran around the castle like a maddened chicken whose head had just been cut off, his two assistants scrambling to pick up every mess that he left behind. Varya understood why Felix wanted to quit.

The Head-Boy was still around, though, and would often come to get her out of the mud when things became too heavy. For instance, once, the Professor had brought a few Nifflers to his classroom so that he could explain their kleptomaniac tendencies, and during a moment of absence, the small creatures had sneaked around the class and stolen a bunch of jewelry from the students. Varya and Felix had spent their day running around the corridors to catch them and had even gotten Della Beauchamp to give them a helping hand.

Without even realizing, the three had entered some sort of unspoken camaraderie and were now always seen walking around Hogwarts together. It was an exciting feeling, having another friend that was not associated with Riddle or the other Slytherins, and Varya found that she enjoyed Felix's presence. Although he was to graduate soon and was two years ahead of her, the boy had taken the two girls under his wing and had started treating them as sisters.

"Did Della say anything about tonight?" Felix inquired as he took off his tie and unbuttoned his collar, already sweating due to carrying so many boxes around the room. The window was open, and a light breeze was coming through the window, ruffling his hair. The month of February had barely started, and yet the weather had already shifted slightly.

"Tonight?" Varya asked mindlessly, and when Parkin gave her a weird look, she remembered, "Oh, about sneaking to the kitchens? I do not know if that is a good idea, Felix."

"Ridiculous, have a little faith in us! The Hufflepuffs have given me the directions to the entrance during the night in exchange for my silence, and it is only reasonable we investigate ourselves. I hear they are preparing candy canes for Valentine's Day," the boy said eagerly as he stuck his head out the window.

The rehearsal room was on the fifth floor in one of the towers, as Professor Beery had requested an unused office to be transformed into an amphitheater. The stage was small, with mustard yellow curtains that had seen better days, and it was awfully crowded, but the play was to be a pantomime, and so they did not need much space to begin with.

Even so, the view from the window was lovely, as it overlooked the Great Lake and central courtyard. Felix saw a few Gryffindors standing by the lake's margins, throwing pebbles around and trying to make them skit on the water's surface.

"Are you not the Head-Boy? Why are you breaking so many rules? First blackmail, now sneaking around— good gracious Felix, one might believe you are a troublemaker."

"First of all, Varya, being a good student does not make me a rule follower, nor some sort of angel." he began, and the girl could only nod as her mind drifted to the Slytherin male prefect, who was quite the sinister being despite his apparent perfectness, "Secondly, this is my last semester here, and I would like to enjoy myself and do things I have not been brave enough to do before. School flies by without us even realizing, and sometimes we get so caught up in the bigger picture that we forget to settle for a second, breathe, and enjoy the smallest moments. Adulthood will not be that great, and I sure will miss days like this."

Varya peered at his face, seeing the bittersweetness that dripped from his grin as he looked over the Hogwarts yard with wistfulness. He had grown up at Hogwarts, and now it was almost time for him to leave, and the girl knew it would be the same as a small bird leaving the mother's nest. It was inevitable, and yet it was still saddening.

"You can always come to visit," she spoke slowly, "I am sure Kettleburn would love to have you clean his prosthetic leg from time to time."

Felix laughed at that, remembering the good times he had had at Hogwarts, and the bad, and sighed deeply. He would miss it. "God, I sound like an old man."

"You do," giggled Varya, then threw a dusty towel at him, "Now clean up the back rows before we get scolded."

The boy grumbled in distaste, then made his way to the back of the room, and started dusting off some of the vintage chairs. They were still sturdy, with fine details engraved in wood, but he could tell they needed some tinkering.

Varya went backstage to pick up some dresses that the crew had made for the play and smiled as she passed some actresses before her eyes landed on Ivy Trouche and Elladora Selwyn. The two had both auditioned for the role of Amata, the witch who had been heartbroken by her lover, and now sought to bathe in the Fountain and "be cured of her grief and longing," and yet it had been Ivy who got the main lead. Elladora had eventually acquired Asha's role, who was gravely ill and wanted to be cured by the Fountain. Varya found it ironic considering the girl's meddling with potions, but she made no comment on it.

The Knight's role had gone to Frederick Weasley, a pureblood Gryffindor with a mess of red hair and hand-me-down robes. Despite his apparent monetary misfortune, Frederick was a gentleman, and he had been courting Walburga Black, notwithstanding the girl's constant refusals.

"He is considered a blood-traitor," revealed Ivy when Varya had questioned her, "They most definitely fancy each other, but the Black family is strict on pureblood lineages; Alphard always complained about it. He still let me go, though, so perhaps it is not the most important thing on their mind."

"Are they brother and sister?" questioned Varya, who had not really seen the two Slytherins interact much.

"Oh, dear, yes. They do not get along well because— well, I am not quite sure. All I know is that she is supposed to marry Orion Black after graduation, so poor Frederick is heartbroken."

"Wait, Black? But does that not mean they are—?"

"Related? Yes, they are second cousins," said Elladora from her makeup table, and she turned to look at her two roommates. The dust had started to settle between her and Varya, neither having the energy to continue their feud and while they would never be friends again, they had become more civil. No poisoning, no knocking each other out, "I would not be surprised if Alphard has the same fate, and that is why he broke up with you, Trouche."

"You are so wretched."

"Only when I must be."

Varya had soon discovered that the two girls had had an ongoing rivalry for most of their life, with the Selwyn and Trouche families always being at each other's throats. Although they were both pureblood lineages, they did not hold the same power as the "Four Horsemen" — as they were called in the wizarding world— Malfoy, Black/Lestrange, Rosier, and Nott. They were, however, next in line. That caused great tension, and even the heiresses had grown to be rivals. That only intensified when Ivy became Slytherin's Golden Girl and took the prefect position right from Selwyn's nose.

Elladora had complained the whole first semester about it, Lestrange had told Varya, and would not stop pointing out how unfair it was. She had also lost the spot in Slughorn's group to Trouche, and now the play had added salt to an already existing wound. Selwyn had always been an envious person, and there was nothing more that she hated than having things that she believed to be hers stolen.

All throughout rehearsals, Varya had resumed her role as a mediator for the two, much as she had been initially, and although she wanted to take Ivy's side on most things, she had learned that an annoyed Elladora meant more extended rehearsals. And Varya had better things to do.

Felix came to the backstage, saluting the two actresses, and tapped the Easterner on the shoulder, "There is someone here for you."

Varya frowned at his words. She was not expecting anyone as far as she knew. Della had been preoccupied with an Astrology assignment, and Icarus was in detention due to a miscalculated prank against Professor Merrythought. Part of her had been excited, thinking that it was Riddle, whom she had not seen in the past week.

So when she saw Lopheus Evergreen sitting on a chair in the back, feet thrown over the rows in front of him and a typical cigarette in his hand, her heart deflated slightly. Her curiosity, however, peaked, and so she went to him with careful strides.

"No smoking allowed," she spoke with a smile and snapped her fingers to make his cigarette disappear.

"Damn it, Petrov. It was the last one I had in this pack— expensive at that," Lopheus sighed, arms going behind his head as he sat leisurely.

"What are you doing here?" The girl sat in a row in front of him, head on the chair's backrest as she analyzed him. He was wearing comfortable clothes, a nice shirt, gray pants, and had a fitted vest on top of it all. His hair was no longer gelled back, strands of blonde hair falling around messily.

"If I said I transferred, would you believe me?"

"No," the girl laughed, shaking her head at his behavior. She understood why he got along with Avery and Lestrtrange so well, and did not want to be witness to one of their escapades as a trio.

"Thought so," the boy's cyan eyes sparkled with poisonous humor, "Family business in Europe, I have to take care of some things. Thought I would drop by to say a quick hello to Riddle, update him on Grindelwald, and then I found something fascinating— apparently, there was an odd Slavic witch that decided to burn down the Knight's meeting room, and ah! How much it displeased the Lord."

Varya hoisted an eyebrow at the word "lord", but let it slide and continued the light banter, "I would not want to meet her, then."

"Oh! How scandalous of you! Nevertheless, you should, after all, there are few witches capable of burning one of Hogwarts' most ancient rooms," he singsonged. Then, he turned solemn, and he got his feet off of the chairs to lean in and speak in a hushed voice, "But that is not all I am here for, Varya. I have a bit of news for you, and this is something you should not tell Riddle, or Lestrange— do not tell anyone, as a matter of fact."

"Are you not one of Riddle's followers?"

"Yes, I suppose. In hindsight, though, I am a one-person party, and I come and go as I please. The American way is quite different, you see. Anyhow, enough chitchat, back to business," he pulled out a newspaper and passed it over to her, and Varya took it in her hands with suspicion, glancing at the title— "Grindelwald loses another battle, Dark Wizard flees Lestrange Mausoleum."

Varya frowned, unsure of what to make of it, as the paper itself was dated back to 1928. The photographs showed some convention, and the girl saw the multitude of wizards that sat to listen to the wizard's speech.

"What are you trying to hint at, Evergreen?" she asked him, and the boy scurried his eyes around the room before letting his finger stop on a photo on the second page.

"Look at it closely, Varya."

And that is when grief struck the girl, and the impact was so hard she was sent in a spiral of rheumy eyes and painful sniffs. There they were, her father and her mother, standing by the stage and applauding the man who would cause their demise.

She barely recognized them, and it was such a strange feeling to see them in the animated picture with prideful smirks on their faces as they applauded a cruel leader. Her mother, Lyudmila, had a tight smile, half crooked, and a pointy nose that Varya had inherited. Cornelius was even more boastful, and he kept nodding his head repeatedly to whatever Grindelwald was saying.

It felt as if they were strangers, and yet they were so painstakingly familiar to her.

Then, she noticed a small blob of dark hair beside them, and the girl narrowed her eyes to look at the small figure. It was her, barely three years old, and she was looking around the mausoleum in wonder. That did not make sense, Varya thought, because everyone had told her that they had left her behind in Romania. Nevertheless, there she was by their side.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked Lopheus, who only shrugged in response. She did not trust him, and perhaps this was Riddle manipulating her again, telling her to follow a path that she had been wary of for her whole life.

"Because if I were you, I would want to know that people had lied to me about my childhood. Plus, I have my own repulsion against Grindelwald and his followers. That man has cost me dearly, and I know how it feels to lose your family to his fanaticism," he explained, and his eyes lost focus as he stared off into the room, memories flashing before his eyes at a painful speed— her smile.

"Thank you," Varya answered, and she was grateful for two reasons— one, this proved that Grindelwald had, in fact, taken her after her parents died at the mausoleum (it only made sense, as she could not have made her way back to Romania on her own, and her parents had been loyal to him, so he had probably felt indebted); two, it was the first picture of her mother and father that she owned.

Lopheus gave her a sincere smile, then got up and stretched his legs, "I must go, Petrov. I hope we see each other soon, and I will make sure to stop by on my way back and salute you."

He gave a small bow, then turned around and left the room in a hurry. He still had some unattended business to get to with Riddle, and his mind was swirling as he thought of what lay ahead of him. There was trepidation in his bones, and as he passed a window on the fourth floor, he allowed himself a moment of peacefulness.

Lopheus Evergreen looked over the estate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy and watched as the restless Black Lake rumbled on the horizon. The sun had begun to set, and the last few patches of snow had begun melting into ponds of mud and vegetation. Nature was rebirthing, and each day that passed marked the beginning of something new, of hope.

Then, he vanished into the sea of students.

It had been Felixius that had awoken Varya from her trance, as the boy was concerned over his friend's grimace, "Everything all right, child?"

The girl blinked away the last few tears, eyelashes watered and lifted, and gave the Head-Boy a grateful smile, "Yes, sorry, a friend I met over the winter break came to bring me something. Uh, you were saying— about the kitchens?"

Felix's face lit up, and he dragged the girl out of the room and into the vast corridors, rambling on and on about the candy that the House-Elves would give them, and how excited he was for it. Varya only listened to half of what he was saying, mind on something else altogether, and she tried to keep a sincere expression as they reached the Ravenclaw Tower.

They stopped in front of a door with no handle or knob, only a knocker in the shape of an eagle, and Varya frowned as she saw Felix knock with it, before she heard a voice, "Forward, I am heavy. Backward, I am not. What am I?"

"Want to have a go at it?" asked Felix as he looked at the girl, "You must answer a riddle if you seek entrance; we do not have a set password."

Varya nodded with excitement and allowed herself a moment of thought as she recalled the words, before answering confidently, "A ton."

The door swung open, revealing the Ravenclaw Common Room, and the girl stepped in, ecstatic at the idea of visiting another House's dormitories. The Ravenclaw chamber was very different compared to the Slytherin dungeons, so much so that the girl could say it was quite the opposite.

The room was astonishingly airy, with artistic arched windows spawning from the top to the bottom of some of the walls, wind hitting against the margins, and creating a quaint whirl. They overlooked the forest, and Varya could only imagine how majestic the sky must have looked at night. There was a divan before the entrance to the dormitory staircase, and Rowena Ravenclaw's statue guarded the door with a solemn face, features sculpted in the whitest of marble. Fine silk hung from the dome, pinching on the walls in semilunar shapes, and the starry carpet reflected on the high ceiling.

"Impressive, right?" said Felix with a proud smirk, "Must be quite different from the Dungeons."

"Sod off, Parkin," cracked Varya, pushing him as they made their way to the divan Della was sitting on. She was hanging off the edge, her head almost touching the ground, and a book sat between her delicate fingers.

When she saw them approach, she twisted swiftly and pushed off of the couch to run up to them, bouncy tawny hair falling over her freckled face. Varya had never quite appreciated Della's beauty as she should have, since her personality usually shinned above else, and yet in the bright light of the Ravenclaw Common Room, the girl sparkled with allure. She was shorter than Varya by a few inches, and her heart-shaped face always wore an intoxicating smile. Her honey eyes were contoured by fluffy eyebrows that had slightly spiraled out of control, and yet they gave her face more structure. She had lips on the thinner side, or perhaps it was just that they were always pulled upwards, revealing charismatic dimples, and her button nose was covered in dotted freckles.

"I am so glad you are finally here; the anticipation was killing me," the Ravenclaw prefect said as she embraced both of her friends, "I have exciting news!"

"What is it?" asked Varya as they started walking towards the basement side by side.

"Malfoy talked to me! Well, briefly— he only asked for my help in the Divination class, but that is a big step, right? He does not talk to muggle-borns usually."

Varya had to agree with her on that one— Abraxas did not even look in their direction most days. Even so, her heart hurt for her friend, and she understood how painful it was to fall for someone who did not want much to do with you.

It hurt, deeply, that Riddle had been avoiding and discarding her so much lately. She knew that their relationship— if she could even call it that— was utterly messed up, so toxic and depraved, and part of her knew she had gotten attached to him too fast. And yet, whenever he looked at her, she could not deny the longing that she felt.

They reached the hallway of the kitchen, and Varya looked around in confusion for the door that she had used on Halloween, and yet in its stead was a painting of a bowl of fruits. It was not until Felix leaned in and tickled the pear that it swung open, revealing the bustling kitchen.

They shuffled inside, and the House-Elves looked at the Ravenclaws in joy as they started greeting them eagerly. Most of them were wary of Varya, as she was not only a stranger, but also wore green and silver pridefully.

"Miss is back!" came a squeaky voice, and the Eastern witch beamed at Rocky, who was still wearing his ripped clothes. The Elf wiped his dirty hands on his apron, then bowed before the Petrov witch. "So exciting!"

"Hello, Rocky, it is good to see you again," she bowed down on her knees to meet his eyes, and the Elf gasped at the fact that she remembered her name.

"Rocky does not get many visitors. No, no," he said sadly, ears flattening against his head, "Students usually only visit Lucy, students like Lucy."

"Well, I quite like you," the girl's answer brought tears of joy to Rocky's eyes, and he jumped around in excitement before dragging her to where the rest of her friends were, already feasting on candies.

It was terrific, really, how eager the House-Elves were to see them and receive the tiniest fraction of affection, and the group of friends shared a rueful smile as more of them gathered around, competing for the slightest hint of attention.

They sat on the ground with them, discussing the newest Hogwarts gossip with eager hushes, and that is how Varya found out that Renold Rosier had been sneaking in and out of the Hufflepuff Common Room in secrecy, and she wondered what — or who — the boy was hiding from his group of friends.

About an hour later, the Eastern witch felt a tug at her sleeve, and she turned to face Rocky, who placed a finger against his lips, then asked her to follow him in secrecy. Varya inclined her head to her friends, telling them that she was calling in the early night, and they both gave her a pleasant smile, chocolate staining their teeth before they went back to giggling together.

Varya hurried out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway of the basement, then paced towards where the Elf was, encouraging her to follow him. She ran up the moving stairs, and when the Elf took a turn on the seventh floor in the West Tower, her eyes narrowed.

They soon reached the owlery, and Rocky clapped excitedly, "I will show Miss a secret, yes, I will!"

Then, he hurried to one of the owl houses, shooing the bird that stood inside, and he reached for something within. Varya got on her knees to take a better look, and frowned once she saw a similar knocker to the one in the Ravenclaw room on the end wall. As she raised her head, she noticed the symbol of a mighty eagle over the birdhouse.

"Rocky, what is—"

As soon as she let those words fall from her lips, the walls began to move, and as the openings in the walls started to allow the formation of a wooden door, the owls started flying to the sky in surprise, making a bit of a commotion.

Varya gasped as the door stood before her, and a mighty eagle was carved into the wood. She approached it carefully, and read the words on the door, "It will only open for the worthy."

With curiosity and pride in her heart, the girl grabbed the handle, then opened the door, expecting it to lead to a fifty-meter fall, and yet her eyes enlarged as she stared at the beautiful study room.

It had to have thousands of books, more than she had never seen, with a grand circular table in the middle, and each wall was covered in elegant azure tapestry. There was a small fireplace in the corner, and a few divans were scattered across the edges, similar to those in the Ravenclaw Common Room. As soon as Varya stepped inside, though, she felt her mind sharpen, her concentration unlike it had been before, and all traces of fatigue left her body. In the center of the opposite wall of the door stood the portrait of a beautiful woman, and Varya immediately recognized the sophisticated features of Rowena Ravenclaw.

"What is this, Rocky?" she breathed, still enamored by her surroundings.

"An ancient room, Miss. Rocky's grandmother used to serve in the castle, and then his mother, and now him. Rocky knows the castle well."

The witch stepped closer to the circular table, and traced her hand over the cherry wood; then, she noticed something written on a plaque near the end. She moved closer to it, and squinted her eyes to read it thoroughly.

"The Salon of Rowena Ravenclaw"

***

Hello! Updated a little early. Hope you enjoyed this. I am back to the regular updating schedule, although it might get a little slowed down as midterms pass.

Also, I have a question: Who is your favorite character besides Tom and Varya?