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CHAPTER ELEVEN

The darkness crawled through the thick, wet branches, rivaling the moonlight. As the wind lashed against the last few leaves that stuck to the scrawny twigs of the trees, rain fell from the sky in small, cold droplets. The night was unforgiving; the cold scratched at Varya's skin as she sauntered her way around the Forbidden Forest, dark wood wand in her hand. Her fieriness had been extinguished by the howls of the creatures that walked the grounds, and now, in her place, there was only a frightened teenage girl.

The midnight hour chimed in the static air, sending ripples of terror to echo through the abandoned woods. The crows cracked, voices hoarse and rusty, their twisted necks peeking through the openings and turning to watch the young girl.

Varya's robes ruffled in the wind, and the rain made them stick to her skin. Her hair fell around her face in dark, clustered strands, sticking against her open lips as her teeth chattered. The cold had settled in her bones; her body felt heavier with each tentative step. As her onyx eyes searched her surroundings frantically, her breath came in more urgently.

She had heard it much like a whisper at first, a calling with no words. Then, it pounded against her skull, shrieking, crying, begging for her to follow it. Almost as if pulled by an invisible string, she headed to the woods, wearing nothing but her sleepwear and robes.

Now, the girl realized her feet were bare, and she curled her toes against the glacial earth, ignoring the harsh bite of frost. They were numb, and if they had suffered any cuts, she would not be able to tell.

It was not a voice that had called out to her, no, it was a presence. Furthermore, it was heinous, almost in a taunting way. Varya should have known better; she had heard many stories of children wandering off into the night and never returning. Hell, she had almost been one herself. Even so, the call was strong, magnetic, and the more she ignored it, the more she felt as if she was suffocating. Was her mind weak? Had she let her guard down because she was not at her old academy anymore?

She stood in the middle of the forest, too far from the castle for anyone to even hear her if she screamed until her voice left her. And for a moment, she prayed that they would at least find her body.

Varya did not hear it coming; she did not feel the wind pick up at its presence, nor did she hear the bushes rustling as it walked closer to her. She did not even hear it as it dragged its shattered legs across the forest floor, slithering closer to her.

No, she only felt its breath against her neck.

She trembled as the creature dragged its finger across her cheek, which had been so rotten that it was bone that she felt against her skin.

"Why are you so far from home?" it asked, and Varya felt herself go still at the sound of its voice. It was melodious, divine even, the voice of a lovely woman, but as it leaned slightly over Varya's shoulder, she could see its flesh slowly ripping from its cheekbones.

Crazed eyes looked at her, almost obsessive, and the creature's smile was psychotic, stretched out far beyond normal. Perhaps, the fact that half of its face had been clawed off, muscles torn and ligaments on display, allowed for more facial freedom.

"I know you..." the ghost went on, circling her slowly. Varya closed her eyes, her stomach turning at the sight of the mutilated face.

She knew what it was; she had seen similar faces in books. It was a mavka, and the knowledge made Varya's skin crawl because if she did not get out of here fast enough, she doubted that whatever was left of her would be recognizable. Mavkas were destroyed souls that had died horrible, premature deaths and sought out to lure people into the woods and give them the same fate. Usually, they had beautiful faces and long, dark hair that they would let flow in the wind. They would ask you for a comb, and if you did not have one, they would rip your throat out slowly, letting you choke on your blood.

"Why did you call for me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she felt the creature's fingers pull at her hair, slowly tugging on her wet strands. The rain was still coming down on them, and it was more arduous now, muffling out their surroundings, and Varya could feel her heartbeat.

"He is coming," it laughed maniacally, now pulling at the girl's hair harder, making her lean over so that she could shriek in her ear. "He is coming; he is coming, he is coming. He is coming for you."

Varya felt her eyes water out of horror, and her jaw clenched as she bit back a scream of pain and terror. The ghost wrapped her hand around her neck, scarifying at it, but not digging its fingers in it. Then, it snapped her chin towards it, and Varya's eyes flew open.

It was maddened, and it stared at her with big, malevolent eyes, as it breathed laboriously and laughed in her face. Her hand tightened, and Varya's hands flew to claw at it, but she felt herself being overpowered.

He is coming. He is coming. He is coming. It chanted vigorously, spit and blood flying from its wretched mouth. Varya reached out for her wand, and with as much strength as she could, she cast out a spell. Confringo. The curse hit the creature in the chest, making it screech in pain as it was blasted away from the girl. Although the curse could not tear a non-corporal being into pieces, it was powerful enough to push it away from her.

Varya clasped at her neck, breathing heavily, and watched as the mavak grew angrier. Then, she started running for her life, ignoring the pain of the twigs and branches drawing at her skin. Her bare feet hit the ground forcefully, and she felt the tears of fright cascade down her face as the turbulent moans grew closer.

She kept running, not caring if she was going in the right direction; she just knew she had to get away from the monster. The leaves rustled behind her, and just as she felt a hand almost grab her robe, she broke through the line of trees, the castle standing on the rocky edge.

Varya did not stop, not until it was stone that she felt underneath her legs and not grass, and when her body collided one of the school's walls softly, she turned around and looked at the forest.

The mavak was watching her, eyes ablaze with fury, mouth opened wide in a scream of anguish. She watched it trash around out of derangement, hands waving around as it resembled a rabid animal.

Varya sobbed, clutching at her chest as she felt her breath grow heavy. She was afraid, no, she was utterly terrorized, and she let herself slide against the wall, her body growing fatigued as the adrenaline slowly diffused out of her bloodstream.

***

Her eyelids fluttered awake when she heard the early song of birds, and she felt the faint rays of the December sun hit her frozen face. The pavement was brumal, and a soft layer of morning frost covered her surroundings. The rooster did not sing, but the hum of nature was everpresent.

Her robes were still drenched, and she felt the iciness of her lungs as she drew in her breath. Varya realized she had slept outside, the early winter weather not being a bother, and for a second, she felt at harmony in the serenity of the early hours. The wind was mellower, and the scent of rain and the alkaline lake made her stuffy head spin. Small drops of dew fell from the nearby plants, hitting the stone floors of the castle's entrance with a dulcet sound.

Her body throbbed as she slowly got up, bones cracking with every move, and her head spun for a second as she sat up straight. Her vision fogged over, and she grabbed on to the wall to support herself.

Slowly, Varya made her way back into the castle, dragging her feet as she looked around for students. Thankfully, it seemed to be too early for any of them to awake. She opened the door to the stairs that lead to the Dungeons, then went down slowly. As she entered the Common Room, she welcomed the warmth that came from the glowing fire, melting away the frostiness that had stiffened her limbs.

"Where have you been?"

Varya turned around to face Nicholas Avery, who stood at the table in the middle of the room, and she saw the multitude of parchments open before him. She made her way towards him, then plopped herself down on one of the seats, too exhausted to answer while sitting up.

"Out," her voice was guttural, and she cringed at the unnatural sound. Nicholas scrunched his nose in revulsion, then conjured a pot of tea. He leaned over to pick up his bag, then took out a jar of perfume herbs, which he let fall in one of the cups. Using his wand, he heated it up, then stirred it slowly before handing it over to the girl.

"Why do you have dry blood on your face, then?" he asked again, and Varya gasped as her hand flew to her cheek. As soon as her fingers touched it, she felt pain radiate. Her hand came back with dark red bits, and she wiped them on her damp clothes. "And why are your clothes soaked?"

"Are you not ever so meddlesome?" the girl scoffed as she put the cup to her lips, letting the fiery liquid slip down her burning throat. "I was out in the forest."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, "I knew you were a bit of a bumpkin, Petrov, but I did not take you for a fool."

Varya glared at him, unappreciative of his words. "A bit of a bumpkin? I grew up in an academy, Avery, not in the sewers. And even so, it is funny of you to question my intelligence when I have outdone you so many times."

The boy smirked, then sank back in his chair as unbothered as possible. "I prefer to use my intellect for other establishments and pursuits. I will leave academics to you and Riddle."

"Really? Things such as what, scheming and conniving?" Varya laughed bitterly, well aware of her classmate's antics. The boy pretended to zip his lips, then gave her a severe look.

"Stop being so elusive, what were you doing in the woods?" he asked, voice grave.

Varya let out a sigh, playing with her cup and wondering if she should be honest with the boy. She felt the need to talk to someone, share her traumatic experience, and perhaps make it seem more like a story than reality.

"I heard a call," she began, her eyes drawn to the window behind the boy that showcased the deep lake. "Not even a call, it was not a voice. It was a feeling, fairly dark, and it reached out to me and made me pursue it. So I ended up in the forest."

"And whatever it was, it gave you that foul gash?" Nicholas asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Yes," the girl deadpanned. "It was a creature, and now that I think about it, I cannot comprehend what it was doing in these parts of Europe. It is not commonly found here. Scratch that, it never wanders this far West."

"That is curious," the boy hummed.

Varya nodded, mind racing back to the ghost's words. They had not been a warning, no, more of a threat than anything, and the girl could not piece them together. Who was coming, and why had the ghost called out for her?

"I believe there might be a reason," the Slavic girl stated, observing as Nicholas scribbled a few words down on his scrolls, which he kept ever so slightly turned away from her. "What time is it?"

"Early morning, perhaps close to five," the boy muttered, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. "Yes, the hour approaches five."

"And what are you doing here, so early? I did not take you for a morning person." Varya probed, still trying to glimpse at his work. He scoffed at her, then started gathering his scrolls, stuffing them in his neat bag.

"Usually, I prefer working here in the mornings; there is hardly anyone around. Today, however, I have been rudely interrupted." Nicholas answered, and Varya took a moment to look at him. His inky hair curled at the ends, shorter on the sides, while his middle-length strands fell over his forehead in a snug curl. His eyes were ungracious and alarmingly vacant for a boy his age; they seemed to scrutinize her every move. Now, out of school uniform, he looked more worn, his dark sweater contrasting against his skin.

"You were working on something," the girl continued in a matter-of-fact tone, and she watched his gaze flicker to her, slight irritation pooling in.

"I was," he said with a stentorian voice, almost as if he had authority over her. "But you should not focus on what I do, Petrov. You might find yourself horribly disappointed in my character."

"You sound so mighty and threatening, one might forget you are just a boy," she taunted, and he gave off another grunt.

"A boy? With the way most of us grew up, I would be surprised if there were even a speck of innocence left. Everyone thinks that being part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight brings only prestige and glory, but even as children, we learn to do our parents bidding. None of us are sane; I can tell you that."

Avery kept his composure, almost proud of his agonizing childhood, his eyes glistened with dignity. Varya, however, had a knack with figuring pain, and she did not miss the speckles of exertion that danced around the edges of his vision.

"It comes with the territory," she stated.

"It does," Avery hummed, appreciative of her understanding. He regarded her for a moment, watching her sip on the last drop of tea, and he hid his smirk. He did not trust her, regardless of what some of his friends said. Varya seemed to be a conniver, and she had a way of figuring people out. In a way, she was alike to Tom, but where the boy wallowed in the darkness that surrounded them, she kept distant from it. And that drove Avery insane.

The clock chimed, signaling that the fifth hour had arrived, and the mechanic sound echoed through the silent room. The soft ticking droned through the air, and, for a second, both teenagers held their breath, listening to the muteness that enveloped them. Varya watched as one the tapestries moved, and medieval wizards cast glorious spells towards a stupendous creature that stalked the skies. The scene kept repeating itself, a continuous loop of battle showcasing.

"You said the beast called out to you?" Avery's voice made her flinch, as she had been entranced by the tapestry scene. Varya's head turned towards him, and she saw him grimacing at nothing in particular.

"Of sorts," she affirmed, "It was as if it pulled me towards the woods, and not obeying its call made me feel as if I was smothering."

"But why would it call for you?" he asked, focusing his eyes on her face, preparing to tell if she was lying to him.

"I do not know, Avery," she said sincerely. He hummed, tapping a finger against the table as he thought for a second.

"I believe you should speak to Maxwell of this," he said, earning a scoff from the girl. "What is it?"

"That boy acts as if my presence in the room is merely passable," she chuckled dryly, eyebrows lifting, "I do not know if we have exchanged more than the common pleasantries."

"Of course, Nott is not one to regard people as much more than a bother, but he is well versed in books, and I believe we have a mystery on our hands," Avery said, slowly standing up from his seat. "He could help is what I am saying."

Varya nodded, watching as he got his bag from the ground and wrapped it over his shoulder. "Thank you."

He saluted her, then made his way up the stairs to his room, letting the door shut behind. Varya let her gaze wander to where he had sat, thinking of his words with intent. Yes, it was correct that the incident raised many questions, and it bugged her.

She leaned over, letting her chin rest in her palms. It was anomalous, and the girl could not find the reasoning behind it. Her skin crawled at the memory of the boney finger that had touched her cheek, and she suspected it was that which had given her a cut.

Suddenly aware of her untidy appearance, she got up and headed to one of the showers, greedy to scrub her skin raw until she could not remember the creature's hands grasping her. Varya took off her robes, then her sleeping attire, and winced at the reddened skin underneath it. In certain patches, the robe had stuck to some of her open cuts, and the fiery feeling of ripping it off made her head spin.

Her nightrobe was dirty, covered in mud and dried blood, and she wondered if Avery had noticed that it was not just her cheek that bled. She raised it to her nose, sniffing it, then threw it to the ground rapidly. Her eyes watered at the rancid smell, and she hoped it had not upset the boy.

Finally, she stepped into the shower, turning on the water to scald her skin, and she brushed at her coiled hair, pulling at the knots. Her skin was suddenly of pins and needles as she remembered the Mavka's hands pulling at her strands. There, in the comfort of her home, she let out a soft cry.