THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS - THE SEVEN DEVILS

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The history of the Knights was one of old tales. It had been almost as if fate had wanted all six heirs of some of the most powerful wizarding families in England to attend Hogwarts in the same year, have them grow up together, their ingenious minds eventually finding a ruthless leader in half-blood Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle has always been an odd boy, someone who had channeled his trauma into ambition, and had gotten entangled with the wickedest scriptures and spells. He was born to be a conqueror, and Hell would have no mercy on those who opposed him. He was wrath.

It had been Malfoy who had joined first, intrigued by Riddle's ambiguous heritage in their first year, and he had helped the boy trace back his lineage. At first, the idea of mingling with a half-blood repulsed the elitist, but when the boy understood that he was befriending the heir of Salazar Slytherin, he put his full faith in him. He was pride.

Tom Riddle was charming, and he had a particular lure to him that obliged the admiration of his fellow Slytherins. Above all, however, he was intelligent, and to those that sought wisdom and control, such as Nicholas Avery and Maxwell Nott, he was the archetypical villain. So the sociopathic butcher and the brooding cerebral archivist joined his ranks in their second year.

Maxwell had always been someone that possessed a profound desire for knowledge, spending most of his time in the Rosier library during his childhood, and yet it never satiated his craving. He always needed more, more, and more. He was greed.

On the other hand, Avery was the stark contrast to his dearest friend, and where Maxwell wanted more, Nicholas wanted less. He was a man of great potential, with a mind equally keen to Nott and Riddle, and yet he had taken another habit—the macabre calling of torture. He was acedia.

Then, Lestrange had accosted Tom after Riddle had defeated him in a duel for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, investigating how he had perfected intricate spells at such an early age. Tom Riddle told him that he would show him, and engrossed the little devil in his preachings of magical supremacy. Moreover, Icarus had stayed true to his beliefs, up until a certain girl had made him question his ties to the Dark Lord. He was lust.

Elladora Selwyn had always been an indrawn girl, who deemed that magic had been tarnished by muggle-born witches and the immorality of wizards. They had strayed away from their actual power, too afraid to join the ranks of those who valued the dark arts. She joined Tom Riddle's group because of their shared values; there was no denying that, but there had also been something else that had attracted her to it— the boy she was infatuated with, Icarus Lestrange. It had been this reason that had pushed her into betraying Varya Petrov as she had, even more so when she had heard the boy's genuine affection for the foreigner. She was envy.

Lastly, Rosier Renold had approached them at a ball in their fourth year, impressed by the influential minds that had gathered together. Because he was the last to join, they had always been wary of his loyalty. Nevertheless, he had vast connections, and that had proven to be incredibly useful. Rosier was a man that had grown up in the French court, surrounded by grandeur and lavishment, drowned in monetary richness. He was voracity.

Seven devils that sauntered the hallways of Hogwarts, each committing a different kind of deadly sin, a clique so impressive in power and knowledge that they parted crowds like the Red Sea, spreading terror wherever they walked. They gathered with every chance they could get, plotting between the dark walls of the Room of Requirement, fighting for the cause they found noble.

If you asked any other Slytherin what they thought the common thing between the seven of them was, they would have probably said their fanaticism against mudbloods. That was true, to some degree, as most of the Knights of Walpurgis did resent those who had been born from muggle parents, and Tom Riddle had been trying to release the basilisk and cleanse the school for the better part of his Hogwarts years.

Nevertheless, that was not their cause.

The Knights of Walpurgis wanted power. They wanted to ensure that Tom Riddle would take over the wizarding world and reestablish its laws, encouraging the performance of dark arts and the supremity of pure-blood superiority. And thus, they had devoted themselves to finding ways to make him invincible.

Furthermore, Grindelwald was their biggest threat, the dark wizard that had managed to take over most of Europe with his preachings. They needed him to back down; they had to find something on the wizard. And when whispers of a grand scheme that Grindelwald was planning started surfacing, Rosier had immediately reported back to Tom. Now, the group had a new conquest— find out the truth by using Varya Petrov to lure out the dark wizard.

It was deplorable, really, and some of the members were unsure of the plan, as they had taken a liking to the girl. Even so, their cause came above all, and if needed, they would intervene to protect the witch.

As long as it did not bring harm to their schemes.

Here is where the paradox began— had Varya not come to Hogwarts, the Knights of Walpurgis would have never been able to reach Grindelwald, and yet, with the Petrov witch attending their school, they only had to pull a few strings and parade her at a ball.

That had been the first significant shift in the time vail, something that strayed Tom Riddle from his intended fate, and yet, it was hard to conclude if it was good or bad. The answer to that question could only be told by one thing— time.

Tom Riddle stood in the middle of Renold Rosier's office, whereas his acolytes were scattered all over the room, watching him as he twisted the ring on his finger. The ominous atmosphere in the room was palpable, the kind of trepidation that is only brought by a forecast of rainfall and thunder. They had noticed his odd behavior as soon as he walked into the room, and had exchanged brief glances. Something was amiss, and their Lord was restless.

"Riddle," began Malfoy as he approached his leader with tentative steps, "something is bothering you. I assume it has to do with the witch."

Tom Riddle let out a bitter chuckle, his expression something between exasperation and intrigue, "That always seems to be the case nowadays, does it not?"

Varya Petrov, what an odd character. He could never quite figure her out, and that bothered him. Something was enthralling about the girl, and he wanted to figure her out more than ever.

"What has she done now?" asked Abraxas as he spoke with his friend in hushed tones, unsure of whether the girl could be listening to them again or not. He knew they had come to discuss her, and they only had brief moments before dinner.

Tom turned to Icarus, who stood by the window, analyzing his new scar in the reflection. His fingers scratched at it slightly, testing the rough skin. It had healed completely, the work of Varya Petrov, and yet the mark that extended from his ear to his cheek was extremely noticeable. He wondered what excuse he could make for it when they went back to Hogwarts. A hunting accident, perhaps?

"Lestrange, you were with Petrov while she was performing her magic. Did you, perhaps, notice anything unusual?" questioned Tom, eyes trained on his duelist. His first fighter in command, and yet, he had been bested by Varya Petrov.

"Her magic itself is unusual, so I am not sure what to make of it," said the boy, thinking of the girl with fondness.

"What about her eyes?" Tom probed further, sitting at the desk as he scanned the room. All seven of them were here, and yet part of him felt like something was missing.

"White, blank, terrifying," recalled Icarus, thinking back to how the girl had been consumed by her power, something like he had never seen. They all knew that her witchcraft practice was different, but something told Lestrange that the group had severely underestimated her capabilities.

Tom hummed, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk as he let his head fall back to the chair's support. He closed his eyes, taking a small breath, and concentrating, trying to focus his mind. However, whenever he let his thought drift, they were filled with the face of a devious witch.

Why was she such an enigma? It almost seemed like she had appeared out of thin air, and no matter how hard they looked, they could barely find anything on her. Tom's mind was still on her association with Dumbledore, and although he had not brought it up to the witch, he knew he had to act quickly and devise a new scheme.

"Rosier, what did you find on her?"

The boy walked forward, setting a pile of documents in front of their Lord, and Tom grabbed at it, hungry for information. He read over a few pages, passages of research results, some history notes, and then, something caught his eyes at the bottom of the final paper. His throat constricted, and he looked up at his followers who were watching him with curious eyes.

"Are you sure of this, Rosier?" he asked, setting the paper on the desk, "Because if what this paper tells me is true..."

"I know," the boy breathed, "I was surprised myself, but it makes sense, and furthermore, it came from reliable sources. The Romanian villager gave it to me in confidence, and well, considering the memory you saw—"

Tom raised his hand, signaling to Rosier to stop his babbling, and the boy took a step back, falling in line with the rest. Azure eyes scanned the papers once again, rereading the words, and Tom let his chin rest on his palm as he pursed his lips in thought.

Of course, it did make sense; after all, Dumbledore's words had foreshadowed it. And yet, he had not expected this result himself. Did Albus know of it? Did he understand what had happened, and was that why he was so eager to bring the witch to Hogwarts?

Then, Tom rose from his seat with elegance, and he clasped his hands behind his back, taking small steps toward the window. He looked outside, eyes drifting to the horizon, where darkness was starting to bloom, and with each second, it came closer.

"Do not let Petrov know," he said, face turned away from the Knights, and as the shadows cast upon his face, a sinister smile grew, "I believe we have found ourselves the key to ascending to power."

It was time for dinner.

***

Varya was a prideful witch, as she had always known that her affinity with the dark arts was superior to the rest, her mind so sturdy that it put most of her classmates to shame. Nevertheless, when standing in front of seven equally imperial faces, she felt some sense of insecurity take over.

She cleared her throat and walked toward the staircase where the group was waiting, chatting eagerly about whatever new gossip Rosier had found, and when her shoes clicked against the marble floor, she saw them all turn to look at her.

As if walking the dessert underneath a tornado of ravenous eagles, she felt preyed upon, almost as if they were going to pounce on her at any moment and rip her throat out, then feast on her secrets.

It was the first time she had found to be in the same room as the seven of them, at least when they actually showed their camaraderie, and Varya almost felt like an intruder. She was the outsider, the person they were toying with, and Varya knew that none of them were truly attached or loyal to her.

Varya Petrov was not among friends.

"Great to see you join us," said Nicholas Avery as he stepped down and towards the eastern girl, hand extended in everyday pleasantries, and Varya found herself putting her fingers in his grasp, allowing the boy to escort her up the stairs where the rest of them were waiting.

Elladora gave her a brief glance, then made her way to stand by Icarus Lestrange, completely ignoring Varya's existence, as she was probably still sour from what had happened earlier. Abraxas Malfoy nodded courteously, and Maxwell Nott gave her a small bow as she passed him, entering the dining room of the Rosier Manor.

Nicholas dragged her to sit by him in order to discuss the plan for the next day in silence, and the rest of them sat scattered around the table. Renold Rosier joined them a few seconds later, trailing behind his parents— Renold Corvin Rosier and Bellatris Rosier. They sat at the head of the table, and Varya wondered how Tom felt with one of his followers sitting above him, although he was sat right of Rosier himself.

"Greetings," said Corvin Rosier as he looked over the table, eyes finally landing on the new addition to the group and narrowing, "A new face, son?"

"Yes, father," said Rosier quickly, eyes darting to Varya as he cleared his throat, "Father, mother, this is Varya Petrov."

Bellatris Rosier gasped, "Petrov? Oh, it is a pleasure to have such a powerful bloodline at the table, then. Please, make yourself feel at home. After all, your parents were great friends of ours— ah, perhaps we should not say that."

Ren's father, however, was not as pleased by her appearance, and immediately scolded his son, "Junior, why would you bring someone associated with Grindelwald into your group? You are aware of how dire our situation is with Vinda and—"

"Nonsense, dear, blood purity thrives above everything else, and besides, she is Lyudmila's daughter. It is only right that we welcome her."

Varya stood at the table awkwardly, gripping her dress in her hands underneath, unsure of what to say while the three discussed her existence as if she was not there. She caught Icarus' eyes, who gave her a pitiful look that only angered her more.

She did not know her parents, and she had no association with them besides her blood, having barely spent a few years with them. Thus, Varya should not have to deal with the mess that they had left behind, the ultimate division of opinions on her existence.

Varya stayed quiet, only muttering a soft, "It is my pleasure, madam."

The dinner arrived, and the guests were presented with a vary of delicacies; a combination of the finest beef money could buy and fresh vegetables. Varya had no appetite, however, still upset over the conversation, and she glanced at Avery, who was politely sipping on a glass of red wine. She wondered if it reminded him of blood.

Almost as if sensing her stare, Nicholas turned to face her, licking his reddened lips, "Yes, Petrov?"

"Tomorrow," she started in a hushed tone, glancing around the room to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, "I need someone to plant the objects on the guests, I cannot do it myself for I risk attracting too much attention."

"Rosier greets the guests, it would be best for him to do it," began Avery.

"Yes, I thought so as well."

"Let me finish— it would be ideal for him to do it; unfortunately, he will be a drunken mess the minute the doors of the ballroom open, and he will inevitably get caught, so it is best we find someone else to do your bidding," he spun his almost empty glass, deep in thought. He threw Maxwell a glance, who sat across from him, and kicked his leg underneath the table.

"What?" asked Nott, casting his eyes between the two of them, irritated by the fact that they had interrupted him from admiring the prized paintings on the walls. Although Varya was not as bothersome as she once was, he was never thrilled to have a conversation with her.

"We need you to plant the vixen's dark objects on the guests," said Nicholas, cutting directly to the chase.

"Piss off, Avery, I do not get involved in your schemes. Last time I did it, this girl right here lost her mind and wanted to murder me for setting her dead pet on fire," he scoffed, earning a glare from Varya, who did not appreciate the way he described the event. There had been a solid reason for her reaction at that time.

"You poisoned her, of course she wanted to murder you."

"No, that was you, not me."

"Same thing."

"Barely. For one, I prefer reading books than torturing information out of people."

Varya watched them banter in hushed tones, and as she looked around the table, she noticed that nobody else was paying mind to it, probably already used to it. She had always thought Avery and Nott to be the closest of the group, as they were almost always together, and in some way, they balanced each other out.

Nott was the rational side of things, the one who spent his nights in the libraries, parchments spread out in front of him as he researched yet another topic for Riddle. He mostly kept to himself, and did not talk unless someone specifically addressed him. Avery was the emotional side, always acting on a whim, his impulse usually being out of control. Sure, he was well versed in books, but that was not his primary source of knowledge. Nicholas particularly enjoyed forcing it out of someone's mouth.

Like yin and yang, the two fell into a balanced friendship, and it was because of that camaraderie that they fought like children, always pulling and tugging each other on another side of things. In retrospect, it was the most innocent thing about the two Knights.

"You could ask Lopheus, I would say he would be up for the job, the damn cleptomaniac and his sticky fingers," chuckled Nott as he bit into another boiled potato, then frowned when it burned his tongue.

"Merlin, Nott— you are a genius!" said Avery, groaning from realization.

"And are you coming to that realization now? About fifteen years late," his friend grumbled, ignoring the glare he received, as passive about his surroundings as always. Maxwell was not a person to pick up on social cues very easily, and often needed Nicholas to explain why he should not be so candid with people.

Avery still remembered a faithful day in the autumn of their fourth year, when a girl had decided to ask Nott out on the date, and the boy had been completely confused by it, questioning why he should be interested in going out with her. He had been genuinely perplexed, as Nott had always been the type that only read about romance, and never bothered to pursue it, but the question had come off remarkably harsh for the innocent girl, and she had stormed off crying. When Avery and Lestrange explained it later, Nott had just stared at them with flickering eyes, eyebrows furrowed in discontent.

Varya hoisted an eyebrow at the pair, "Lopheus?"

She had never heard that name before, and Varya was extremely skeptical about bringing another person in her plan. First of all, she did not know if he was someone that could be trusted. Secondly, the cursed marbles had to be handled with care, and she was wary of handing them off to someone else as it was, much more so a stranger. After all, if everything went south, it was indeed her that would be blamed by Riddle.

Avery shot her an exasperated look. "Yes, Lopheus Evergreen. He is a pure-blood from the United States. Funny lad, likes to mess around with people, and is incredibly good at poker— anyhow, he is loyal to Riddle and would surely help."

"Riddle has people outside of Hogwarts?" asked Varya, curiosity peaking at the idea.

"Of course he does, but do not stress your little brain over that, and trust Nott and me. We will get this done swiftly, hand us the marbles whenever you can."

Varya scoffed, playing with her food and wondering how easy it would be to stab her fork in Avery's eye socket. Then, she felt eyes on her, and as she looked up, she saw Tom Riddle giving her an apocalyptic look. The things that had transpired between the two in her room certainly left an odd taste in her mouth, as the boy had acted fantastically out of character.

He had urged her to teach him a ritual, and somehow, she doubted Tom was one to openly do such things, as he preferred studying on his own or having his followers collect information for him. He never asked for assistance. Moreover, although she was involved in their newest scheme, Varya knew that Tom did not regard her the same way as he did the rest.

The boy would not take his gaze off of her, and she started feeling its weight almost immediately. His eyes were calculative, and she could tell he was trying to figure something out. She met his stare defiantly, and raised an eyebrow, but the boy only frowned deeper, then turned his head away from her.

The dinner ended shortly, and Varya wanted to go back to her room and start reading the volumes she had acquired at Borgin and Burkes, as she had not been able to open them around Della. She thanked the Rosiers, then proceeded to head to her room, passing by the figure of the Knights, who did not stop her.

Once she was in her chamber, she sat by the fire with a book in her hand, skimming its binding as she stared aimlessly at the winter scenery ahead. Tomorrow, Varya would have to attend the ball, and the sense of dread following her was surreal. The plan was not seamless, and she found herself doubting it multiple times.

Nevertheless, she put those worries aside and opened the book, going directly to the section on mavkas. She read the same information she had always known, that they were lost souls that had died premature deaths, and that they often lured men in the woods to slit their throats. However, Varya was no man, and perhaps, that is why the mavka had not bothered concealing its disgusting appearance. Nevertheless, what would it gain out of harassing her?

Unless someone had sent it specifically after her?

Varya continued reading until she reached a new paragraph that described the creature's origins. Mavkas were a widespread occurrence, and yet, their history could be traced back to one single woman— Kostroma, a Russian fertility goddess. The goddess, who had been tricked by the god of fire and goddess of nighttime into marrying her brother, committed suicide by running into the woods and drowning in a lake. And since then, she roamed the Earth and terrorized the souls of men. She was, if one were to define it, the queen of mavkas, their leader, and was known for striking deals with wizards that were powerful enough to pay her price— the death of thousands of men.

And the war would be the perfect opportunity to strike a deal, Varya presumed, so if someone wanted to take control over the creatures, all they had to do was harness the souls of the deceased soldiers, or perhaps, even kill some of their own.

But who could do that? Yes, Grindelwald was always an option, especially since he believed magical creatures to be of greater importance than muggles. However, Varya suspected that the person striking the deal had to be of a darker soul. And as much as the Dark Wizard was a force to be reckoned with, he had no idea what the darkness entailed.

Something was coming, a dark force of the future, and Varya had no idea who it was.