NOTE: Oh my god! Thank you so much for almost 3.5k reads! I woke up today to 100 notifications or so, and I once again want to say thank you for those reading, especially those commenting and voting! It means a lot and I hope you have been enjoying this story so far. Although this story is not finished, I try my best to update daily so I will not leave you hanging!

Also, we are now #1 in the "Riddle" category. Thank you sooo so much!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Hogwarts had been Varya's only home for months, and without even realizing, she had grown overly attached to it, to the point where leaving the castle made her feel suffocated. She stood beside the Main Entrance, her humble suitcase by her side, and she looked over the imposing towers that stood against the bright sky.

The snow had covered the ancient school, glistening in the sun and reflecting its pure rays. The engulfing feeling in her heart grew exponentially as she watched Tom Riddle gaze down from an open window on the fifth floor. His eyes regarded over the multitude of students as they bumped into each other with enthusiasm, gleeful at seeing their families over the holidays.

She wondered what he felt at that moment, his situation so similar to hers, and she wanted him to talk to her about it, to be honest about his longing. Was he disheartened during Christmas, when he walked the streets of his town and saw the many families window shopping in the busy streets? When his friends bragged about the presents they had received, did he ever feel ashamed about not owning any new robes, not having the shiniest toys in the stores?

The wind blew at his curls, and his unmoving face carried the royalty of a nordic prince, so graceful and brilliant that it was breathtaking. Tom Riddle had been born to conquer, to rule over those of lesser minds, and Varya knew that with the right push, he could become the leader the wizarding world needed. The only problem, however, was stopping him from becoming a bloodthirsty tyrant.

Tom's eyes finally met hers, and he recognized the striking dark hair against the innocence of the snow. His mind flashed of red drops and sharp daggers, the pitiful cry of a soul that had been broken, and he found himself to be entranced by her presence. She had regained her youthful glow, the poison's effects finally subduing, and now, she resembled the strong witch that he had seen on the first day.

He remembered her in her sophisticated gown, wearing the traditional family crest on her sleeves, carrying herself with the dignity that he knew she possessed deep inside her, and a small breath left his lips. She had disappeared half-way throughout the night, and Tom had fought against the need to find her, unsure of his mind.

Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself slowly making his way down the moving stairs, cursing when they switched unexpectedly. There was an awareness in his body, and for some reason, he rushed to the Main Entrance, dragging his trunk behind him.

Tom stood in front of the main door, and watched her from the shadows as she carried her bags toward a carriage, suddenly stopping unexpectedly as she gazed at the Therestral. The creature neighed at her, stomping his feet in agitation, almost as if he could smell the sinful blood on her hands, and Varya found herself backing up in a hurry. Tom made his way to her, already seeing pieces of her mind break at the memory. Without saying a word, he threw his trunk in the carriage and hopped in one of the seats.

He extended his hand to Varya, and she watched him with wary eyes, gaze flicking between the boy and the creature.

"Nothing can defy you unless you let it," he told her, arm still extended. Reluctantly, she accepted his offer, then climbed the steps to sit opposite him.

"Wait for us!" came a rugged voice, and they both turned to see Maxwell Nott and Abraxas Malfoy, making their way towards them. The platinum-haired boy had already changed out of his uniform and was now dressed in a black suit, blending in with the line of trees of the Forbidden Forest.

Varya moved herself to one of the ends of the seat, making room for Abraxas Malfoy to sit next to her. The two of them had started getting along better, and he had even wished her well on her trip, saying that he expected to see her soon.

"Fancy seeing the two of you here," said Malfoy, eyes darting between the pair.

"It is almost like we are all heading in the same direction, you fool," breathed Maxwell, and Varya realized that was the most she had ever heard him speak. Almost as if hearing her thought, the boy turned towards her, giving her a nod in acknowledgment.

Tom scoffed, then took the scarf that Maxwell had wrapped around his trunk, and threw it over his neck, grimacing at the cold. He looked at Varya, then asked, "Where are you going to stay?"

"London," she answered softly. With the large scarf around his neck, Riddle looked more his age, less intimidating and menacing. "I am staying with Della."

"The mudblood?" he breathed angrily, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Yes," Varya said, back straight and not cowering against his judgment, "She is my friend."

"Blood traitor," Malfoy breathed, and before he could even process it, he felt the cold steel of Varya's knife against his side. The three boys widened their eyes at the girl, and Varya only smiled, feigning innocence.

She pressed it harder against his side, delighted at the painful wince he let out, and the small bead of sweat that rolled down the back of his neck despite the cold wind that hit their backs. Varya had sneaked another dagger in her pocket, and although it was not as sharp as the one Avery had stolen, it could easily slice the skin of those who held prejudice.

"Malfoy, Malfoy," she singsonged, leaning closer to his face, "Perhaps you have forgotten that my mind is no longer fogged with the essence of witch's berry, and you see, my temper has always been quite bad. Now, I would watch my words if I were you because last I remember, I still owe you a nightmarish time."

Abraxas turned towards her and nodded slowly. To her surprise, he seemed unfazed by her threat, almost as if he had foreseen it, and did not look at her with the fury she had expected. She stuffed her knife back in her pocket, giving him a false smile.

"Nott," she addressed the other pure-blood in the carriage, voice demanding as the Therestral dragged them along the paved road. Her mind wandered to the night she had summoned the ghost, when Tom had called her pathetic, and wondered if his mind was stuck on the same thing. However, the boy had his nose in a book, something she recognized from his library visits.

Secrets of the Darkest Art.

"Yes, ma'am?" asked Maxwell, voice fatigued as he looked at the girl he found irritating.

"Have you found anything on the matter I asked you to research?"

The boy rolled his eyes, then dug into his pockets before pulling out a ripped piece of a scroll and handing it over to the girl. Varya looked at it, confused, then read the odd address on it. It was in London, and it had the name of what seemed to be a store on Diagon Alley, but nothing more.

"What is this?" she asked, perplexed.

"An address," he answered blatantly, almost as if he was discussing with a child, "The man who owns the shop is known for contrabanding satanic writings. If the creature that approached you were of demonic origins, he would most likely be able to help you."

"What is his name?" she questioned him.

"Caracatus Burke," he said his name with the most solemn voice, almost as if he admired the man.

Varya stuffed the note in her robe, giving him a thankful nod, then trained her eyes on the approaching train station. The carriage stopped, and the boys started unloading it, then helped her get down from the steps. She had expected them to go on in their own way, but she watched Tom instruct Malfoy to carry her trunk, and gave the boy a grateful smile.

He only scowled at her, then turned around and walked ahead of the group.

"Varya!"

Petrov turned around to see Della Beauchamp make her way to her, eyes gleaming with delight at the sight of her friend. Varya returned it, and she could not help the excitement that had built up at the idea of spending her time at another person's house. It would be her first time celebrating Christmas.

"Oh, please do let me join your Slytherin scheming compartment," she laughed, watching as Maxwell Nott frowned at her presence. He scoffed, then turned to follow Riddle and Malfoy, dragging his trunk behind him.

"Why? So you can ogle at Malfoy?" smiled Varya.

"Of course! Have you seen his suit? Dashing he is," Della giggled.

"You are mad, you know how prejudiced he is, and yet you strive for his affection, it is almost as if you are a masochist," scoffed Varya, shaking her head at her friend as they entered the first wagon of the train. They started making their way down the corridor, squeezing through the passing students as they held each other's hands.

"I was not placed in Ravenclaw for my self-awareness, I can tell you that," her friend answered as they reached the door of the wagon that Varya knew Riddle would be in. "My eagle heart yearns for a challenge, always."

She opened the door, and was met with five pairs of supercilious eyes. She stepped inside, a shy Della following, obviously intimidated by the Slytherin presence, and Varya dared any of the boys to speak something against her appearance, hand tentatively above the pocket that held her knife.

"Sit with me, Della," she told her friend, then made Icarus scoot over to make space for the two of them. She felt everyone watch her, and she knew she was playing with fire by bringing the muggle-born witch in the Slytherin compartment, but Varya had to teach the boys to be more tolerant. And if shoving muggle-borns down their throats was the way to do it, then so be it.

Surprisingly, she saw Maxwell Nott nod at Della in acknowledgment, before engaging in small talk over a book that the girl had been holding in her hand. Apparently, the pure-blood enjoyed muggle literature, and he did not have many opportunities to discuss the topic with his friends.

That settled everyone's nerves, and soon enough, the boys went back to what they were doing. Icarus was toying with some chocolate frogs, charming them with his wand to pester a sleeping Rosier. Varya watched the frog jump on the boy's face, tickling his nose and making him scrunch it in annoyance, but he did not wake up. Nicholas Avery was flipping the pages of a book about combat, a jaded look stitched on his face, whereas Malfoy was simply staring at the two girls, an apathetic look on his face.

"Where is Riddle?" asked Varya suddenly, noticing the absence of the prime charlatan.

"Probably scolding Selwyn somewhere," scoffed Malfoy, rolling his eyes at the notion.

Varya frowned, unsure how to feel about it. Despite her roommate's constant denials that she felt anything for Tom Riddle, her guts told her something was going on between the two. So it was her curiosity that made her get up from her seat, giving an excuse that she needed to take care of lady business.

She made her way down the corridor slowly, peeking in most cabins, until she reached the end of the wagon, where one of the compartments had the curtain drawn down. Varya frowned, then placed her hand on the golden knob, and pushed at the door gently.

Riddle and Selwyn sat in the compartment across from each other, both wearing sinister glares on their faces. As soon as they heard the door open, their gazes snapped to Varya, and Tom narrowed his eyes at her.

"Yes, Petrov?" he asked, voice ungracious as he took in her presence.

Varya heard Elladora scoff, "Oh, why do you not have her do it, then?".

"Do what?" asked Varya, shutting the door behind her as she stepped inside the compartment. Elladora patted the seat next to her, an invitation, and the Slavic girl gladly took it, sitting down across from Tom, who had an odd look on his face.

"Tom wants me to slip poison in the glasses of some of the attendants at the Rosier Manor, hopes it will help them open up about what is going on," she said, ignoring the warning gaze that Tom shot her. Despite her unyielding loyalty, Elladora was a girl with an incredible sense of self-preservation, Varya had learned, and she did not want to carry out tasks that could endanger her family reputation.

"Selwyn, Varya does not have the dexterity, nor the experience with potions, that you do. Furthermore, I am growing very tired of your rebellious behavior. As much as I value your loyalty, I prefer when it comes naturally, rather than having to force it with an iron hand," said Tom icily, not even bothering to hide his threat behind careful words.

Elladora blanched, and, against the moving background of the window, she resembled the fragile redheaded beauty that Varya had befriended on her first day at Hogwarts, deer eyes staring at her with a silent plea. Varya did not know if it was the fragments of their friendship that rested in her soul, or the unexplainable need to prove herself to Riddle, but she found herself gesturing the other girl to leave the compartment.

The fiery-haired girl sent her a look of gratitude before scurrying away, shutting the moving door behind her. Now, the moving machinery's coach rested two equally disturbed souls, both fighting an endless battle of dominance and supremacy. Riddle was angered over the insubordination of his followers, and he blamed Petrov's existence for it. Ever since her arrival, it had become harder to get them to obey him without questions, her constant defiance setting an example for them. Nevertheless, just because Tom could not bring himself to torture Varya's physical state, it did not mean they were free of consequences, and his sinister mind was already scheming ways to get back at Selwyn.

The moving train bounced with each metal railway that it strode over, crossing the white hills with incredible speed. To the casual onlooker, it might have seemed to be your ordinary string of wagons, gray smoke rising from its coal-fueled engine, but at second glance, one might have noticed the unexplainable amount of pet owls that flew behind it, or the oddly out-of-fashion robes worn by its passengers.

Of course, no muggle would turn their head twice towards the moving train, their eyes only trained on the sky— waiting, watching, fearing. They were too preoccupied with their own sorrowful present to notice the magic that was hiding beneath their nose.

"Petrov, what gives you the impression that you can order my accomplices around? It has become a habit, and I do not appreciate it."

Varya aimed her eyes on him, watching his fretful expression grow tired, and she realized he had uttered those words a few seconds before, but the girl had only just registered them.

"As it has become a habit for you not to trust my capabilities?" she questioned him, her posture resembling that of a trained and powerful woman, legs crossed and chin held high as she watched him with eagle eyes.

"Trust you?" he scoffed, "When I asked you to extract information from Newton Scamander, all you could do was drink your weight in champagne and then dust off the floors with your lover and two pathetic friends."

Varya did not know which word was muttered with more disgust, and she found herself insulted at his insinuations. She had not told him of the warning Scamander had given her, because frankly, she did not trust Riddle not to use her as some sort of bait or further endanger her. Parading herself around Grindelwald's followers was already too much of a risk, and yet she was willing to put her neck out in hopes of proving her loyalty to Tom— even if it was a facade.

"And so you go behind my back— you recruit the person who tortured me for months, and you believe she will solve the problem?" Varya said, raising her voice at the boy.

Tom got to his feet, suddenly pulling his wand out and pointing it at her nose.

"Do not dare raise your voice against me, Petrov!" he spat her name with such virulence it made her heart jump, but she did not flatter.

Before Tom could even register what was going on, Varya got up to her feet, grabbed his wand, and pulled it out of his hand, throwing it at the floor with aggression. She twisted his arm forcefully, then grabbed his hair, and put the blade to his throat. Her wrath was indescribable, and for the first time in a while, she felt her demonic magic surge through her veins, no longer held back by the small amounts of poison that had flown through her internal liquids for months.

There was quietness in the room, but the tension was palpable, and their breathes synced in a swirl of fierceness and recognition. Tom grabbed at her blade, but Varya only pushed it harder, so close to drawing blood.

"All I would have to do to kill you on the spot would be to mutter an incantation. Perhaps, you have forgotten I know wandless magic," he breathed, ignoring the stinge of his Adam's apple bobbing against the dagger's pressure.

"I would slit your throat before you got past Avada, Riddle."

Then, she retracted her hand, pushing against his back and sending him flying into the sofa seat opposite of her. He turned slowly, face so vivid it resembled a roaming incubus, carrying the most gruesome blood-lust she had ever seen on a man. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, ruffled by her grip, and his breath was heavy, notwithstanding his best attempt at controlling it. Despite all, Varya thought he looked ravishing.

"I will spill your guts on this carpet, Petrov," he thundered, voice shaking with rage, and Varya had never seen the boy so unsettled.

"If you could, you would have done so already," she bit back insolently, taking her a seat yet again, and watching him as he arranged his hair and calmed himself down. It was hypnotic, how fast he could switch from his sociopathic rage to the impassiveness of a model boy.

He sat across her, once again, and she did not miss the way his hand subconsciously scratched at his throat, almost as if checking that his artery was still in place. Varya had managed to mess with Tom Riddle's mind.

"Do not underestimate me, Riddle, or you might find yourself in a situation you are not quite proud of" she told him coldly, eyes analyzing every twitch in his face, scanning for a crack in his calmness that could indicate him plotting his vengeance. "I can work on this myself."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her, "It would make everyone's lives easier if you just accepted Selwyn's help and stopped being so arrogant, but be it as you would have it, how will you get them to talk?"

"I do not need potions," she huffed, gaze falling on the moving trees in the winter scenery, "Not when I can slip my own cursed objects in their pockets."

"Cursed?" inquired Tom, suddenly intrigued by the thought. Varya smirked, noticing that she had gotten his attention.

"Yes, cursed, I can perform my own incantations, and then I will make sure each target gets a small piece of misfortune," she said, hands gesturing without purpose, "I will play with their emotions, I can even curse them unable to lie, either way, believe me when I say this— I will not disappoint."

Tom watched her, relishing in her newfound cunning mind, and admired the way her lips moved to form words of devotion to his cause. He felt her need to prove herself to him, to earn his respect, and he savored it like a Turkish delicacy, so aromatic and yet pleasurable. Her eyes were two stones of heliotrope, the blood-gem, and whatever ray of light was captured on her retina, it was quickly stomped by her dragonic pride.

Then, he nodded to her, a pleased smirk on his face, and his skin crawled at the way brief assurance passed on her face, the innocent belief that she was slowly gaining his trust. But Tom knew, above all, that he could never feel something other than loathing for the girl. She got up, then left the compartment in silence, and his eyes trailed her graceful figure as it moved down the corridor.

His hand flew to his neck once again, and as he swallowed harshly, he cleared his throat. With some sort of admiration, Tom Riddle realized that, for the first time in his existence, he had been frightened by someone else's blood-lust. Perhaps, it was him that had underestimated her.