CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The fortress had always been morose. It was made of only one tower, and it stood in the obscure shadows of the Austrian Alps, dominating over the forests that surrounded it. They called it a castle, but it was more of a secluded prison for Grindelwald's enemies, and there was never anything imperial about it. There had been balls or meetings— that is where the Alliance met, but since they declared open war on the wizarding war, it became a detention center more than anything. The mountain terrain made it hard to access, and that guarded it against the constant attacks of opponents.

Varya had her own room on the sixth floor, and it had a balcony and a few windows, but they were all sealed with charms. They did not want her jumping off. Her time at the Nurmengard Castle was one of the most somber of her life, and it had been filled with days of torment and punishment.

She was only seven, and she should not have felt what she did— the need to end it all, to jump off of the building, to be with her parents again. God, the things they did to her, and the agony of it all. It was so sadistic in nature that eventually, her mind had started shutting it off, and that only angered them more. As long as she remembered, it would thrive.

Now, they were carrying her luggage to a carriage at the Grand Entrance, and the girl was dragging her stuffed bunny along the dirty pavement, catching the dead leaves in its ears and dusting its white fur. Her caretaker, an old lady so bitter she put lemons to shame, was waiting for her out front, tapping her foot impatiently.

Miss Pichler was not the kindest woman the world had seen. As a matter of fact, she had little compassion for those around her, and had immediately grown to hate the young child when Grindelwald had brought her to the castle.

"Why can I not use a broom?" Varya asked quietly, eyes downcasted in obedience. She did not want to travel in a moving cage for so many days. They were sending her away to a school, and she could not understand the reasoning behind it. She was never allowed to practice magic in the castle, so what would she do at Scholomance?

They never allowed her to practice anymore, not after killing so many staff members of the castle. Her Obscurus was tethered to her emotions, and when the girl realized what was happening, she tried the best to suppress the parasite that had been placed inside of her.

Slap!

"You stupid little girl, how many times must we tell you that you are not allowed to do magic?" Miss Pichler roared at her, voice so pitched it sounded like a fire siren. Her white hair was pulled in a bun so tight it pulled at her fallen features and made her look almost insane as she raged on at the poor child.

Varya cried, cradling her cheek and hiding her stuffy nose in her toy as she let her sobs rattle her body. Pichler's hand grabbed her by the hair, and she screamed as she was dragged to the carriage, then thrown inside. The seven-year-old looked up at the only motherly figure she had had in her life, and the torment inside her was something no child should feel. Why did Pichler not love her? What had she done wrong?

"Merlin, I hope they treat you very well at that school," the caretaker said wickedly, "But remember little one— all you are..."

The woman got closer so she could whisper something in the little one's year without any of the servants that were moving the baggage hearing.

"Is a slaughter pig."

Then, she shut the door harshly, letting the darkness spread through the windowless carriage, and Varya trembled in her spot, much as she did every night. She was mortified, so scared of what was to come, and all she could do was cradle her knees to her chest and cry out for her dead mother. Nevertheless, Lyudmila had died years ago in the mausoleum, and no matter how much Varya had shaken her limp body, she never answered her calls.

Then, she had felt herself submerge in darkness, and had woken up in the tower, with a man with white hair looking down at her with impatience. Since then, he had made sure that she was fed and clothed, and yet he had subjected her to the most severe abuse.

"One day, you will continue what your parents started, and you will understand that everything I have done was only to strengthen its force. You will be a martyr for our cause. For the greater good."

Grindelwald had been trying to tame it for years, but to no avail. Every host that he had chosen for Ariana Dumbledore's Obscurus had perished before reaching the age of thirty, and his latest attempt, Credence Barebone, had been just as big of a disappointment as the rest.

He had died in battle shortly after the mausoleum, and even before that, the boy had been letting Newt Scamander's words reach his gullible mind, intoxicating him with false idealism of nurture and kindness. That is when the Dark Wizard realized that he needed someone stronger, and much more loyal, so that he could weaponize the parasite by controlling the host.

When Cornelius and Lyudmila Petrov had offered to give birth to a child that would be raised as a vessel for their cause, the Alliance had been more than delighted and had sent them to a foreign country to hide from the Ministry. Romania had been just the right fit, especially as Grindelwald took over Scholomance, and entered her in Dalibor's trials.

It was atrocious, so much so that even some of the most wicked people in the Alliance had not developed the stomach for it in almost over a decade. Scholomance subjected its students to the most torturous mind games, and the coven had really no care for those who could not survive. Training werewolves to shift at will and control themselves, injecting students with various substances to test the best way to minimize magic, taking their blood away only to feed...well, certain beings.

Now came the next problem— getting the child to survive long enough that she could be bred to unleash her monstrous power against the common enemy that was Albus Dumbledore. While Obscurus had always been masses of incredible darkness, powerful enough to destroy cities in mere minutes, human vessels could not withstand such parasites. Despite all of their attempts at preserving the girl's vigor, she grew weak in frame and mind over the years, and the torture they had implemented on her to withhold her magic and make her a suitable host did not help.

Wicked little things— parasites. They never really killed the host until they were done with it. Instead, they made it go insane, lose control over their own magic, weakened their strength to the point of being susceptible to any type of manipulation.

Varya Petrov had fallen sick multiple times during her childhood, and she had grown a temperament against those who would betray her. Eventually, they had to develop a solution— if the mind did not remember the torture, if the body were reset to function with magic, then the Obscurus would become dormant.

After all, it was Dumbledore himself that said that Obscurus could be reversed if the feelings disappeared.

It had taken years of trial to discover magical barricades strong enough to banish such devilry, and every few years, it would start resurfacing as the witchcraft wore off. She had been raised to fulfill a task, and nobody truly cared what would become of the girl after, when her mind would fall due to the years of torment.

Then, Grindelwald had come up with an innovation. What if he was able to merge the Obscurus with the witch? She had remarkable magical capabilities due to her ancient bloodline, so much so that if she ever mastered her Obscurus, she would become a force of nature.

And yet, there would never be enough time for that. Varya Petrov was a time bomb, and her expiry date had been set in stone as soon as Grindelwald had let the parasite infiltrate her body. She would not make it past the age of eighteen at this point, and even that was a stretch with how her body was deteriorating.

The Deathly Hallows— initially, he had wanted them only to raise an army of inferi, and yet now they might have proved to be useful in more than one instance. If he could keep Varya frozen in time, then the witch would be not only a force of darkness, but also the most powerful Necromancer to walk the planet.

She was the ultimate weapon.

When she disappeared from Scholomance, everyone had known it was Dumbledore's hand, and yet they had not made a move. While at Hogwarts, the girl was out of reach unless they started gathering forces.

Thus, they did just that. Except, Grindelwald knew that witchcraft would not be enough to defeat them. No, he needed something...darker. His soul could not handle something so evil, so wicked, so he had to have someone else strike the deals.

Now, they were coming. And they were merciless.

***

The dagger came down on Riddle's chest, and a second before it pierced his skin, it stopped.

Elladora's hand gripped Varya's wrist just as the dagger was about to plummet in Tom Riddle's ribs, and her heart beast faster as she realized the situation she had found herself in. Selwyn had never been the best at combating; she played dirty, and slipped nightmarish poisons to her enemies while they were unaware.

As the Eastern witch turned around, her figure already being obstructed by swirls of sooty darkness, the other pureblood knew that she was in over her head. Her actions had given Tom enough time to react, though, and so he rolled from underneath Varya, and grabbed his wand in a last attempt at taming the beast that had resurfaced.

Godamn it; he had poorly misstepped on this one. Furthermore, as he looked at Nicholas Avery's limp figure, Tom could only hope that he had not screwed everything up for all of them. He had wanted to rile the girl up, speed up the process of her awakening, but his anger had gotten the best of him, and now he was in a situation he did not know how to handle.

Had it not been for Maxwell Nott reading the volume Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them to a scratch, perhaps he would not have known the most effective way to tame the parasite as it seemed to explode out of the witch's body, a swirl of dark wind and destruction.

But as he raised his hand towards it, muttering the spell that the boy had told him, Tom felt his power surge and entangle, and it hit Varya right in the chest, sending her flying in the air. Her body hit a tree in the distance, and it immediately knocked her out.

The spiral of darkness retracted slowly, but surely, and the wind began to settle as the force disappeared. Elladora was panting, body frozen at the confrontation, and she thanked Merlin that she had gotten there at the right time.

"Merlin," she breathed as her head moved around to assess the damage, hands moving against her face to settle down her untamed hair. A few trees had been outrooted and thrown around aimlessly, the ground had fissured and raised towards the sky, and there was blood all over the stones of the riverbank. It belonged to Tom Riddle, who had a deep cut on his forehead, and was limping towards the crouched body of Maxwell Nott, "You ought to go to the hospital right now, Riddle. You have lost too much blood and—"

The Lord raised a hand to silence his acolyte, giving her a grim look that made her lips snap shut, and then he turned towards his archivist, who was shaking on the ground, mind in pieces. He gripped his shoulders, trying to shake him out of the trance Varya had put him in, "Nott, you are all right. Your family is fine; it was only an infused nightmare."

Nevertheless, Maxwell continued to sob on the ground, and at that moment, it was painfully apparent that he was the weakest amongst them, the one who had never trained for battle. He was also one of the youngest, a few months away from turning sixteen, and yet he had just envisioned his whole family being murdered before his eyes.

Selwyn ran to where Avery's body was, and with a shaky hand, she reached out to his neck to check for his pulse— faint, but still there. A breath of relief left her lips, and she knew that another day had passed by where all of them had survived. She grabbed his arms, then hoisted his lanky body up, and looked at Tom, "What are we going to do?"

"We cannot go to the Hospital Wing. They will ask us questions," he mumbled as he made his way to where Varya was. If they went to the Matron, she would surely tell Dumbledore what had happened, and it would take him no time to figure out that it had been Varya to cause this mess. If they were lucky, they would believe that the brief storm was simply the changing Scottish weather and nothing more. "How is Avery?"

"Knocked-out, possible head injuries, but alive. I could fix him up with my brews, but I have nothing for your gash," the girl breathed as she forced Nott off of the ground, and his body was still shaking as he took a look at Avery's collapsed form. He sobbed louder.

"Get them out of here," Riddle groaned, already annoyed by the younger one's constant wailing.

Elladora nodded slowly, then encouraged Nott to get up and help her carry Avery to the owlery. Tom watched them disappear amongst the trees, then turned to the girl that was lying on the forest ground. She was paler now, and her chest barely moved as she breathed.

His head pounded, and he felt light-headed as he picked up the girl, letting her legs dangle from his side, and started walking through the woods. His body ached as it had never before, and his stomach churned at the thought that he had been so close to—

However, it had not scared him. Not like he would have expected, at least. There was a moment before Varya almost sunk her knife in his heart where he had accepted it, when he had come to terms with the fact that he was mortal. It had been fleeting, and yet it was real.

He reached the owlery right after Elladora, his legs barely keeping him up, and yet when Icarus Lestrange ran to him to take the girl from his arms, he gave him a frown and kept going. "What happened?" asked Icarus as he paced by his side, hand reaching out to touch Varya's limp figure.

His worry disgusted Tom, and he could not understand why Icarus could not just give up his pursuit, especially after the girl had broken up with him. Merlin, love was such a weakness, and it had polluted the boy's brain to the point nothing could resuscitate it. Such a pity, at that, that Tom's best fighter had been softened like this.

"I woke the Obscurus up," answered Riddle as he placed Varya's body on the circular table in Rowena Ravenclaw's study, and he frowned when he saw that her skin had grown colder. His eyes flashed to Elladora, who was now tending to Avery's injuries with a few mashed creams she had, spreading them around the boy's head and trying to heal any internal wounds, "Pass me the blanket."

Icarus fumed beside him, and it took all of his self-control not to punch the leader in the face. He had put her in danger yet again, and probably for his self-interest, "And why would you do that, Riddle?"

Tom turned to him, eyes cold with villainy, and he raised a single eyebrow at his follower, "Are you questioning your Lord, Lestrange?".

Lestrange felt himself back down, and yet he stood by Varya's figure stubbornly, holding one of her cold hands as Tom covered her with a blanket. It was only then that he noticed the bleeding gash on his leader's forehead and the way his usual poised figure had grown tired and wobbly. Riddle held his head in his hands, shaking it slightly to flutter away the small mosquitoes of static that buzzed the inside of his skull, and yet his frame only grew weaker.

"I am going to rest," he mumbled quietly, then turned around and left the room after throwing one last look at the passed-out Eastern girl.

Maxwell Nott was still in the corner of the room, staring blankly at the clock's tongue as it moved with every passing second, forcing himself to calm down. He was still trembling, and whenever he would glance at Varya Petrov from the corner of his eye, he would feel terror enveloping him as he remembered how she had danced to his screams.

He knew it had not been her fault, that the girl had just been overpowered by her emotions due to Riddle's manipulations, and yet the nightmares she had infused in his mind had made him realize just how fucked up everything was. It was easy to play at something big like conquering the wizarding world when you were safe behind Hogwarts' walls, when everything was just a plan on paper. Nevertheless, acting on it was much different, and somehow Maxwell had never considered the consequences of his actions until Varya had shown him.

Now, he was not so sure about Riddle's plans anymore.

He had always been one of his most devoted followers, and yet when they had started everything, at the green age of twelve, it had seemed more a child's play than anything. However, it had gone past that a long time ago, and they had all done crimes that no person their age should have. There was only more to come along the way, and Nott was starting to become doubtful. The seed of uncertainty had been planted in his mind.

Nott glanced over to where Nicholas was sweating on the table as Selwyn tended to his wounds, and his heart twisted at the idea of losing his childhood friend at such an early age. He had never thought it possible, as Avery had never been knocked out in battle. Now, none of them seemed as invincible as they had thought themselves to be.

"He will be all right, no?" asked the youngest, and Elladora sent him a gentle smile, nodding slowly. She had always had a soft spot for the boy whose mind did not entirely function like the rest of them, who enjoyed the company of books more than he enjoyed other people.

"I cannot believe this happened," muttered Icarus as he continued to stroke Varya's hair benevolently, and he threw a glance to Selwyn, who was avoiding his eyes.

Her heart squeezed. The boy had become wholly devoted to the Eastern witch, and had not even spared Elladora a glance in the past five years despite being in the same circle. The way he looked at her, he would never look at Selwyn, and it was agonizing knowing that he preferred fantasy over a possible reality.

"What did you expect?" grunted Elladora, and she took out a pair of scissors to cut down some bandages. Then, she wrapped them around Nicholas' head tightly, making sure not to restrict blood flow, and yet to press enough so that nothing could slip into his wounds and cause an infection. "Riddle has wanted this since the beginning— her power is the key to everything we have ever wanted. You care about her, but you have seen those documents. She was born to be slaughtered, a vessel, and attaching yourself to her will only cause you pain. She has a year left at most."

Lestrange wanted to curse Grindelwald for what he had done, and Varya's parents for agreeing to hand over their daughter after their death. This was no life for anyone, and he could not imagine how the girl would react when she would find out the truth.

"Not if Riddle succeeds with his plan. He is right, it might be nefarious, but it will fix her problem and—"

"We both know she will never go with it," argued Selwyn as she made her way over to Varya's figure. "And say that she did survive, what kind of life would that be? Either she will end up in the Alliance's hands and be used in war, or Riddle will drive her mad with his strive for power. Even then, she would always be hunted by the Ministry— they would never let her survive and walk around. She is a threat to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."

"So what, Selwyn? We just let her die?" spat Icarus, getting up from the table and away from the girl whom he had grown up with. Once upon a time, Elladora had been an innocent, delicate, and delightful girl, and yet her envy had turned her into more a monster than a human.

The girl stayed silent, eyes flicking between the boy and Varya, and then only sighed as she gazed at his back, longing for something she could never quite have.

A small sound escaped Varya's lips, and then she groaned as she started fluttering her eyes open, trying to adjust to the bright light of the study. Her lungs felt as if they had been twisted dry, and she started coughing as soon as she raised her head. Icarus ran to her side, and patted her back gently.

She remembered everything, and Varya wanted to cry as her eyes met Nott's. The girl had seen everything unfold, almost as if watching a car drive down a road while in the passenger seat, and she had screamed at herself to stop so many times.

Her hands flew to her face, and she pressed palms against rheumy eyes as she cursed herself for all she had caused. She wanted to just sink beneath the ground and let it swallow her, take her away from everyone so she could not hurt other people.

The Eastern witch gave Icarus a rueful smile, and everyone in the room watched as she got up slowly, guarding themselves for her next attack. Varya looked around, and the arrow of guilt dashed through her heart, "Where is Tom?".

The Knights exchanged nimble glances, unsure of whether it would be a good idea to send the witch to their leader, especially so soon after they had almost killed each other.

"He went to rest," returned Selwyn eventually, then pointed in the general direction of the door.

Varya ran out of the room immediately, ignoring Lestrange's call and the way her body burned as she skipped steps and ran to the Dungeons. She wanted to find Riddle immediately, make sure that he was still breathing, and then punch him until he turned purple and blue. The goddamned wizard had broken her mind yet again, and last she remembered, the girl had told him that there would be consequences.

She barged into the Common Room, ignoring the odd stares some of the three-years sent her, and then she grabbed onto the staircase balustrade that led to the boy's dorm and hoisted herself up. There were a few doors down the hallway, and if she had to, the witch would pound on every single one of them until it swung open and revealed that infuriating satanic boy.

Varya's blood boiled the longer she thought about it, and she had to calm down her shaky breathes, knowing well that when her emotions were heightened, the magic she possessed slipped from her control. But Merlin, she had murder on her mind.

Fortunately, Rosier swung open one of the doors as he struggled to carry out a bag of clothes, and Varya spotted a bloody shirt in his pile. When he saw her, he made to stop her from going inside Riddle's room, but the witch had long forgotten manners, nor cared if it was improper for a woman to enter a boy's room. Fuck their opinions.

She barged into the room, almost kicking it down, and when her eyes fell on Tom's figure by a mirror, dabbing his cut with a wet towel, her soul split in two— some part of the girl wanted to tear up at the idea of having hurt him, and yet another part wanted to rip him to shreds.

The second part screamed louder.

Shards of glass blasted in the room as the girl sent a curse to the mirror, and Tom barely caught a glimpse of her in the reflection to put up a shield. He turned and cursed loudly, knowing that Varya would overpower him in this state.

"You are going to tell me everything right now, Riddle. Or so help me God, I will blow this school to pieces and take you all with me."

Tom stood still, looking at the pieces of glass that were scattered on the floor, and he debated his choices. He could try to fight her, perhaps use the glass to send dozens of daggers to penetrate her skin until she bled out on his floor and her red liquid spilled through every crack. He could try to hex her, just as he had done in the forest, and hope that her Obscurus could be destroyed.

Or, he could finally surrender to her, and admit to his plans, convince her to join him instead of always plotting and twisting her mind.

"You are an Obscurial."

Varya should have reacted in some way— violence, sorrow, chaos. She should have shattered the bed's frame with her magic, or should have let a river of torment and anguish flow down her face until she choked on her own cluelessness. And yet, she stood in her spot, face not moving an inch.

The witch wanted to die.

She could not feel anything anymore, not the way her chest rose with every shaky breath, or Tom's azure eyes as they were trained on her with piqued interest, or the small breeze that ruffled her hair as her magic sizzled beneath her fingers.

Her reality had been shattered so many times that it felt like an endless loop of fate's cruel jokes, and she did not know what diety she had upset in her past life that her life had become such an entangled ball of nothingness.

"How?" she whispered, and her hand clung to the frame of Tom's bed as she held herself up with her last traces of vigor, knowing that her knees would give in at any moment.

Tom avoided her hurt gaze, not favoring the way it made something in him twist, so much so that he felt the need to pluck out his heart and smash it against the pavement in cold fury. He kept his composure and made his way to his trunk, then opened it and pulled out the documents Rosier had given him all those months ago. He passed them to her, and Varya grabbed them with half a heart.

Slow hands flipped over the pages, and with each paragraph, her face grew more somber, more heartbroken. The Slavic girl had always thought her childhood to be one of the nightmares, and yet she had not imagined this.

Documented horrors of human experiments carried on children, some dating back as much as two-hundred years ago. Many of them marked in red — deceased — or yellow — failed — and yet only one stood in green amongst the wrinkled pages.

Varya Petrov - Obscurial/Witch.

She had been brought in after accidentally killing enough workers at the Nurmengard castle that a second graveyard had been added, and her Obscurus had started manifesting more and more as the abuse continued. Grindelwald had grown frantic to tame her, and had reached out to dear-old Dalibor to include her in his trials.

The Dark Priest was known to conduct such gruesome experiments on his apprentices, and had no remorse for those who succumbed under the heavy pressure or due to the horrible conditions they were kept in. As the doctor marked down their deaths, he would often tell them what cause to cover it up with— strigoi attacks, mavkas, kulmkings, anything that could be attributed to a creature of the forest.

They had tried to reverse her Obscurus by altering her memories and weakening her magic, trying to chain it to the subconscious, from where it could only be freed by breaking down the barriers.

Dumbledore had known this, then. He had been aware of what would happen if she revisited her past, and how the Obscurus might start eating at her life again, and yet instead of searching for a solution, he had just let her go on with her day. Perhaps, some part of him thought it best that she put an end to her life by remembering everything.

Tom Riddle had also been aware, and her eyes watered as she realized that the boy had not cared for her life, or how her death would become set in stone if he unleashed her darkness. Even more so, Icarus Lestrange, the man that had continuously professed his love for her, had also let everything unfold.

"How long have you known?" her voice cracked as she asked him this, and the agony that swirled in her eyes, like black holes that had sucked all of the despair from the universe inside, almost made the boy tremble.

Tom cleared his throat, and struggled to find words, his mind shortly short-circuiting, "Since the Rosier Ball."

So long, the girl realized. For so long, they had known what had been happening with her, and yet they had hidden everything, trying to play with her as you would with a toy. Her vision fogged as she marched over to him, grabbing a fist of his shirt and clinging on to it for dear life as she felt her heart shatter.

"You have let me die; you have treated me like an insignificant value in your life, and for what, Riddle?" Varya's voice was a mix between fury and anguish, and Tom found himself breathless as he looked into her despondent eyes. "I am so tired of people treating me like I am only part of a scheme, some weapon that they can use to torture each other and conquer. I am a person, Riddle! I breathe, I cry, I feel, and I bleed just like the rest of you. I am not an emotionless machine that you can dispose of when you achieve your goals."

Tom felt his wrath grow as her babbling continued, and her tears of agony fell as she cried as she had never before. Varya's hands clutched on his shirt in desperation, and he had to hold her elbows to prevent her feet from caving in as she broke down into pieces before his eyes, so utterly succumbed to her own demons.

He did not like the way everything in him told him to comfort her, reach out, and try to soothe the pain that he had caused. Riddle would much rather have relished in her agony, and yet he found himself completely disturbed by her sorrow.

A blossoming cherry tree that shed its flowers in the harsh wind of May, with pink dust flying around the meadow in waves, Varya was an ingenuous girl that had been stripped of every possible source of comfort and salvation in her life.

She had never felt so utterly hopeless, with no control over her life or destiny. The girl would never grow up or have a family; she would never know what it would be like to explore the world on your own. Her life would have been a short, sad joke, filled with heaps of dismay and disappointment.

"Why would you do this to me?" Varya wailed, and she punched the boy's chest repeatedly as he stood there motionless, unsure what to say or do. Tom Riddle had never had to comfort someone's suffering because, frankly, he did not really care what effect his actions had on other people.

He had seen Elladora cry when he had yelled at her for not completing her tasks, had disregarded when Maxwell grew gloomy when his effort was not acknowledged, and had ignored Abraxas' hurt whenever the leader would overlook him. Furthermore, he had never cared for their feelings because sociopaths did not feel guilt; they lavished in it. Tom had never felt shame for inflicting pain on someone.

Until now.

The boy let Varya hit him with weak fists; he let her tell him how much she hated everything about him, how he was nothing but scum, and did not deserve their loyalty. The burning feeling in his abdomen only grew, and he found himself pressing his lips in irritation at the sensation. Tom did not like it, and he wanted the girl to stop making him feel, so he grabbed her wrists and fought against her anger.

"Petrov, enough of your wailing," he bit at her, and then threw her arms to the side and away from him. The girl glowered at his reaction, and then her hands flew to her face as she sobbed and paced around the room. "I have no time for your dramaticism."

"Fuck you, Riddle," Varya yelled, and then she grabbed the textbook from his desk and chucked it at his head. Tom dodged it, but the girl only kept grabbing things from his room and throwing them at him. "You are an emotionless bastard who will never find happiness, and you will annihilate everyone who cares about you!"

Tom grabbed his Defense Against the Dark Arts volume from the air and continued trying to evade her anger, and he felt his own wrath growing, "Would you stop this?" he roared, then threw the book right back at her. Merlin, she was more infuriating than anything he had ever had to deal with, and the burning in his stomach kept growing as he watched her face cover in tears.

"You will end up alone, sad and immortal! And what will you gain out of that? Everyone will leave you because you are so emotionally disturbed that you feel the need to manipulate every breathing soul that passes you," she continued yelling, and then picked up his parchments and started tearing them to shreds, "We get it, Riddle! Your mum died; you grew up in an orphanage. Poor you! Some of us were tortured and experimented on, some of us had to watch everyone they love die, and yet we are not half as terrible as you."

He watched helplessly as she continued trashing everything in her way, a hurricane of madness and desperation, and Tom knew that he had been the cause of it. Her words bothered him, and for the first time, it was not just his pride that stung.

"You know what the worst thing is, Riddle? I had hope for you— this whole time I thought that maybe all you needed was some sort of guidance. But you are a monster, and you make Satan look like a coward compared to the things you do! You murdered your father, your whole family, because you did not want to be associated with him, but you know what, Riddle?"

She stopped for a second, and looked him dead in the eyes.

"You are exactly like your filthy muggle father."

Then, the breeze started picking up, and the lights on the ceiling started flickering and casting shadows on the emerald walls and tapestries. The ground rattled, and the room cried of a soft creak as everything in their chamber swung from side to side. Tom glanced at the shelves Malfoy had mounted on their walls, and he saw the books and glasses fall and crash to the ground.

And Varya cried and screamed as she picked something up, throwing it in the air and then sending a flash of black flames to it, immediately burning it to bits before Tom could even react. It flared up, and the pages of ink turned to nothing.

His stupid fucking diary.

The burned bits fell to the ground like feathers of a raven, and they both watched them turn to ash as they scattered between the stone cracks. Varya stood still, breathing heavily as her eyes flickered between the burned journal and the owner, whose face was slowly growing red with rage.

"You stupid little witch."

His hands were on her throat before she could even react, and she felt him tighten his grip as he choked her until there was nothing but spots in her vision. Varya trashed against him, and kicked against his abdomen, but goddamn it; he was strong for a lanky boy. Eventually, she managed to get it a nasty scratch at his face, and the boy recoiled from her, hands touching his cheek in absolute wrath.

She looked at him, and breathed at the way his face was covered in cuts and bruises— all her own doing. Satisfaction grew in her stomach, and for once, the girl could not bring herself to care that she had hurt him. Tom deserved it, all of it, every bit of pain that she had brought him.

"I hate you," she said, and her voice cracked because she knew she did not entirely mean it. Fuck her irrational feelings and the way her heart surged whenever he glanced at her with those turbulent eyes and a roguish smirk. Fuck his absolutely brilliant mind and ravishing looks. Fuck Tom Riddle and everything he stood for.

The boy approached her once again, and he towered over her with bloodied curls and the kind of gaze you would not wish on your worst enemy, "I despise everything about you, Petrov."

And yet, why could he not mean it? At least, not the way he had said it once.

The girl leaned back and felt her elbows hit the matters as he leaned over her slightly, trying to get in her face. And then his hand grabbed her hair, and Tom pulled her face up so that he could see the hatred in his eyes, and he felt his abdomen churn at it. God, how much it pleased him.

"I hope you burn in Hell, Riddle."

He loathed her to the core, so much so that he wanted to rip her throat out right then and there. Their eyes carried absolute wrath, and his steel-blue eyes, so cold and sinister, met with her deviant sable irises in a swirl of delusion and hopelessness. He pulled at raven locks harsher, and enjoyed the way she let out a small hiss between sultry lips, then glanced back at him as her breathing came to a halt. Tom's face came closer to hers, and he glared right back.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she breathed, eyes scanning his face, and she had to hold back a gasp at how he made monstrosity look so ravishing. Fiendish pupils were dilated as he looked at her, and his jaw was set as he huffed through his nostrils, pants heavy.

"Why?" he sneer was caustic, and it almost made the girl flinch at how much venom he carried, "Because you are weak. You could achieve so much; you hold power in your blood that most people would dream of, and yet you have no determination to use it— even in the forest, when you had darkness oozing out of every pore, you could have killed me. Nevertheless, you did not. There was a second of hesitation, and that was enough for Selwyn to stop you. That is pathetic, Petrov."

The girl wanted to wince, and she ignored the stinging in her eyes as she probed further, "And what else?".

"You walk around Hogwarts as if you have everyone wrapped around your pretty little finger, and yet how many times have I bested you, Petrov? Are you not a lot embarrassed of yourself? Time and time, you fail, and you cry like a stupid little child," his breath fanned her eyelashes, and he smelled of mahogany and blood, "Varya, you have no power in you, only the arrogance of a stupid girl that is in over her head."

Varya had to look somewhere else because she could not handle the utter hatred in the man's eyes— the one she loved despite all. Her throat constricted, and yet her body shook with the faintest sob, and she closed her eyes in agony, "Is that all?".

He threw his head back in a sinister laugh, then trained maddened eyes on her, "Of course not, how could it be? That is not even the worst, Petrov. There are so many things that are just so wrong about you, so much so that it makes me want to gauge your eyes out whenever you are too close." He watched as her face scrunched in hurt, and a macabre smile grew on his face as he savored her pain. "And you want to know what is the uttermost disgusting thing about you, Varya? You truly want to know? It is the way you make me want to—"

He stopped, and the girl looked back at him with rheumy eyes, "Want to what, Riddle?" her voice cracked.

Tom continued to stare at her, at the way her dark eyelashes had become damp with the saltiness of aqua pearls, and now they fenced sooty eyes that were duller than the coldest day of January. He tried to open his mouth— let her know exactly why she was the most vicious and repulsive creature that he had ever seen. However, his words caught in his throat. He could not speak.

But he could show her.

And so he kissed her.

***

Okay, here is a quick overview of the backstory if you are still confused. If you got it, just skip ahead:

This ties in with where the Fantastic Beasts movies left off, except in my version, Credence dies and as the theories say, Ariana Dumbledore's Obscurus is extracted. Grindelwald needs another host, and Varya's parents, blinded by devotion, offer their child up as a martyr. Soon after, they die in battle, and Grindelwald takes Varya to his castle, where he lets the parasite in her body, and he thinks that the only way it can stick to her is to continue tormenting the magic (at this point, we know that Obscurus are a representation of suppressed magic).

Unfortunately, the girl cannot control it, and it wreaks havoc on the estate, to the point where they have to find a way to suppress it until they can find a way to preserve her body. Obscurus always kill their hosts, and Varya at this point is no different. So she gets sent to Scholomance and her memories get toyed with, she enters the trials that Dalibor carries out on the children.

Dumbledore has said in FB that when the feelings disappear, the Obscurus goes away. But the Alliance believes if they only hide the feelings, it becomes dormant. They are correct, and so the barricades manage to preserve it for a little while until every few years it starts breaking through, and they have to redo the process. When Dumbledore takes her away and Tom plays with her mind, everything starts breaking down, and now the Obscurus is eating away. She does not have much time left.

So in this book, whenever Varya talks about feeling her "darkness", although she is unaware, she is referring to her Obscurus that is growing stronger.