THE ANATOMY OF ICARUS LESTRANGE - THE DUELIST

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Varya could not remember the last time she had celebrated Christmas. As a matter of fact, she thought she had never savored the holiday much- her school did not make a big fuss about it. Gifts were prohibited, as they did not want to encourage students to be materialistic, and the festive dinner implied that dessert would be served, unlike the regular days. She never minded it, in any case. After all, it was the only thing that she knew.

At Hogwarts, however, the holiday was the most critical time of the year, and as she walked down the hallways, she could see multiple students already wearing Christmas sweaters and reindeer antlers. Some went the extra mile and had charmed a small cloud of snow to follow them, or had made their costumes shine with holiday lights.

It was mildly inconvenient, Varya realized when she sat in class next to a Hufflepuff that had snowflakes dancing around her. A few of them landed on Varya's hair, and she bit back a nasty remark, brushing them through her hair.

Professor Merrythought was demonstrating the Everte Statum charm, a spell commonly used in dueling that sent the opponent flying back a few feet. She had Tom Riddle up front, as always, and Icarus Lestrange, who was quite the skilled duelist.

"Now, Riddle will be demonstrating how to cast the charm efficiently, and I want you all to pay attention," she said, pacing the front of the class, "and Lestrange will be taking the impact, unfortunately-"

"Is it because of the charm I used on the Hufflepuff, Professor?" interrupted Lestrange mockingly, earning a scowl from Merrythought. Even though Varya had been forgiving of the merry students, Lestrange had taken it as an opening to charm a classmate's antlers, making them grow in size and stick to his head, much like real ones would.

"Precisely, and I expect to see you in detention as well," she said, shaking her head in condemnation.

"Would not have it any other way, ma'am," he said, sending a wink her way. Varya rolled her eyes, but she could not help the smile that stretched over her face.

Nevertheless, it vanished from her lips when she met Tom Riddle's stare, who was frowning in aversion. Their gazes locked, and it seemed almost hopeless to pull her eyes away, stupefied by his intensity. In retrospect, Tom Riddle was an enthralling being, with intellect so developed that he outwitted some of the teachers, and his ambition burned like wildfire. It glowed of beautiful emerald green, much like a serpent's scales, and nothing could extinguish it once it ignited.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, almost like an invite, but Varya did not know how to respond. They had not had a conversation since Hogsmeade, and there was something in her that wanted to reach out to him, to figure out what he was thinking. Tom Riddle had become her ultimate fixation.

"As I was saying," the teacher's voice snapped her out of it, and she broke the intense eye contact, her attention going back to the class, "Mister Riddle will hit mister Lestrange with the charm so that you can see how it is used, but then they will switch places. Lestrange will cast the charm; however, Riddle will quickly deflect it. Observe this, as it will be on your O.W.L.s."

The class watched the two boys bow to each other, although Tom only briefly inclined his head to his partner, engaged in the duel. Both were talented sorcerers, but their magic was incredibly different. Where Tom Riddle used a scholastic approach, wand strokes artistic and sophisticated, Icarus Lestrange was a barrel of gunpowder, exploding with each spell he cast.

And that was the striking divergence between the two of them, was it not? Tom was a calculative person; he never needed to rush because he was used to having everything in his control. He twisted people around his slick fingers, much as you would a coin, and found it so easy to maneuver them that it was almost comical. When he walked around the room, he commanded it with elegance and appeal, heads turning to see the Slytherin prefect. His face was of Adonic beauty, sculptured from the most delicate granite, and his eyes carried intrigue like no other.

Icarus, on the other hand, was an exciting person, full of venture and wittiness. There was never a dull moment around him, eyes ablaze with passion and devilry. He was a man with no repentance, and he carried himself with consummate nihilism, almost as if he did not believe in divinity, and enjoyed swimming in the devil's cauldron of sin. A born trickster, Icarus was similar to Loki, the god of mischief, and he fought ruthlessly.

If Tom was the wintertime blizzard, cold and imperious, Icarus was hellfire, consuming and bustling, and they never found common ground to bring hell upon, both being just as nefarious.

"Ready, boys?" at their nod, the teacher waved her hand down, and the first flash of magic lightened the room.

Tom's spell was powerful, and it sent Icarus flying into the wall behind him, a loud thud echoing through the room. The students gasped, and Varya raised to her feet, leaning over the desk to glance at Lestrange.

The boy was groaning in pain, massaging the part of his head that had collided with the wall. His pained eyes met Varya's worried ones, and he got up back to his feet, ready to resume the lesson.

"A bit harsh, Riddle," he chuckled, still clutching the back of his head.

"The least of what I can do," Tom said smugly, and Varya scowled at him, not understanding his behavior. It was common for Tom to be an overbearing arse, but never so openly, and he had almost made his words sound like a threat. His gaze flew to her, self-righteous smirk resting on his lips, almost as if he was challenging her to speak up. The girl stayed quiet.

"My turn," Lestrange smirked, eager to cast the spell although he knew the other boy would deflect it. Icarus cherished dueling, it was in his blood, and he was remarkable at it.

Perhaps, that is why Tom considered him to be one of the best at martial magic in their group, and often had him lead their attacks. He was not afraid to engage in battle, and he never hesitated to take out his wand and fire the most vicious curses at a target. The boy had no remorse in him, almost as if he was simply machinery of war, and his reflexes were outstanding. Icarus Lestrange was the infamous duelist of The Knights of Walpurgis.

His spell was fast, rough, and he did not wait for the Professor to give him the green light. It caught Tom off-guard, as he barely managed to deflect it, having to stumble a few steps backward. The Slytherin prefect frowned, obviously irritated by his opponent not following the rules, but half of him had expected it. After all, that is why Tom kept Icarus around. He was an outstanding soldier by his side, always at the front line, always willing to risk everything for their cause.

"Excellent job, boys," the Professor praised them, which was a natural occurrence for the two of them. "Now, everyone, I want you to grab a partner and practice the charm and the deflection spell. Off you go!"

The tables in the room started moving to the sides, making enough space for the pupils to start their training. Varya looked around, eager to find a partner, and practice her charm. She was quite rusty on her deflection spells, having always mostly practiced the attack.

Elladora walked up to her, lips glossed over with the faintest tint of red, matching her natural scarlet hair. Her eyes held the balance of nature in them, so green that they put the winter trees to shame, but they were glacial. Her expression was not a pleased one, and Varya could tell something was amiss.

"Is everything alright?" she asked her friend, who took out her wand to practice.

"Peachy," Elladora mumbled, her voice obviously tired. Something was bothering her friend, and Varya had a feeling that it had something to do with Ivy.

"Did you argue with Ivy again?"

Her roommate's features darkened, and she shot a look to where Ivy was practicing her spell with Alphard.

"I just do not get it, how nobody can see her for who she is. She walks around so mighty, putting down everyone that does not share the same opinion as hers, and she blasts Tom each chance she gets. Nevertheless, she is no different; her family is no different."

Varya frowned, slightly confused at what the redhead was saying. It was true that Ivy came from the same circle as most of them, but she did not have the same hatred in her heart. Especially when compared to Tom, who had a horrifying future ahead of him unless he somehow managed to change.

"I feel like you are judging her quite harshly. She is nothing like Tom," said Varya, trying to defend her friend while also being considerate to Elladora. She did not know how deep the bad blood ran between the two girls.

Elladora glared at her, obviously not pleased with her friend defending her nemesis, "At least the rest of us are truthful about who we are, Varya."

"Are you really?" probed Varya, suddenly irritated at how Elladora was associating herself with Tom and his followers. "Because I would like to know what happened to my Most Macabre Monstrosities volume, Elladora."

Surprise flashed over the girl's features, obviously not expecting the confrontation, but Varya was not as clueless as they had all presumed. She knew it had been her roommate that had taken it, as it was Elladora who had been in the bedroom with her before its disappearance. She had avoided talking to her about it, trying to piece everything together.

Why had Elladora taken her volume? Indeed, it had something to do with Tom, and Varya could only assume that the two of them were working together. That much was clear. However, what did they not want her to see in that book?

"Cat got your tongue?" probed Varya, giving her roommate a jaded look at her silence. "Or did I just not give you enough time to think of a good enough lie?"

"Varya..." her roommate started, eyes downcasted in dishonor, and yet she would not explain herself. "You have to understand me."

"I do not have to do anything, Elladora. If you violate my trust, you do not get to make demands," she said, taking her position to start practicing their duel. "I do not know why you would help Tom, but I am tired of secrecy and backstabbing. If you cannot be truthful with me, then I really have nothing more to say to you."

Selwyn looked ashamed, and it gave Varya indescribable delight to see her squirm underneath her gaze, to make her aware that there was an ultimatum on their friendship. If her loyalty to Tom was above all, then so be it, but at least the two will know where they stand.

"So?" asked Varya, giving her another chance to explain her actions. She was met with silence. "Very well...Everte Statum!"

***

It was Icarus that ran after her when class was finished, trying his best to catch up with the girl. Everyone in the classroom had seen Varya Petrov blast Elladora Selwyn, knocking her out against the chamber's bricked wall.

"Not that I did not find it terribly entertaining," he started once he reached her, slightly out of breath, "but did you truly intend on having Selwyn's lights go out with that spell?"

Varya shot him an agitated gaze, not welcoming the fact that he had followed her. Perhaps, it was only her guilt eating up at her conscience, a whispery voice that told her he cared for her too much, but his presence was irksome. She veiled it well, though, like the deceiving wicked witch that she was, always playing her charade.

They all thought that she could not see past their facade; perhaps, they were used to those who believed no Hogwarts student could possibly mean harm, and so everyone pecked small crumbs from their hands. If that was the case, then they were fools, because Varya had the habit of reading people's darkness, and she could see it twisting around their figures, slowly caressing their faces with somber umbrae and anguish.

She froze in her place, thinking about her next words warily, then turned towards Lestrange, who had an anxious expression that made her blood boil.

"I am exhausted from being treated as if I were an outsider, and I am tired of everyone trying to play tricks with my mind. Do you all truly believe that I cannot see past your lies and manipulation?" she breathed out fire, her voice imperious and threatening, chin held high. She inched closer to Icarus, who had gone from worry, to shock, and then to a lopsided smirk.

"Varya," his voice was tentative, and his hand reached out to touch her cheek as he tilted his head to give her a strange gaze, "when will you understand that we are all just doing his bidding? It is not us, but him, who is trying to distort your mind."

Then, his demeanor changed; his gaze carried an uncharacteristic seriosity that Varya welcomed cordially, and she oversaw him as he seemed to struggle to piece his words together, eyebrows downcasted in a stern look.

"Truthfully, none of us know what he is up to, we have not for a while, and even telling you this could bring me great trouble, but understand that he does not do it because he finds you easy to toy with," Icarus admitted, voice hushed and eyes scurrying to scan their surroundings.

The corridor was empty; most wizards and witches were already enjoying a sumptuous meal in the Great Hall. It was only the moving portraits that could witness their exchange, ears peaked at the sight of two students in the secluded corridor, eager to get their hands on the latest gossip. However, Icarus was no fool, and with a simple snap of his finger, he banished the painted figures, leaving a dozen empty canvases to hang on the walls.

"Then why..." Varya began, perplexed at the boy's words.

"Is it not obvious, Petrov?" Icarus questioned her, almost in a disdainful way, as if the truth was right before her, so easy to reach out to, and her fingers were merely skimming its edge, "He thinks of you as a threat, or maybe a weapon he could use, he knows your power. But you are insubordinate to him, and that irks him, so he plays with your mind just to break you because when he does, it will be him to pick up your pieces and mold you into whatever he desires."

Varya's breath came in small gulps, a tremor in her lungs, as she pondered over this information, unsure what to believe. In her mind, Tom Riddle wanted nothing to do with her; he had made that clear by repeatedly pushing her away and deeming her to be pathetic. He shunned her as if she carried the plague and never really spoke much whenever they were together.

In the Great Hall, he made note to stand as far away from her as possible, while still making it seem as if they were acquainted, and he barely passed any words to her, usually just reacting to whatever she said with a sneer.

Perhaps, that was his game, and she had read him so terribly wrong. Varya had thought arrogantly that it was her that could see through him, but it had been him that realized what he had to do in order to gain her attention, to make her come to him. She had thought herself above his manipulation, but in doing so, she had just placed herself in the spider's cobweb, and now she was entangled.

Entangled, not only because she had fallen for it, but because deep down, Varya knew that she could not step away from it, she could not stop trying to figure him out. To a child that grew up with no toys, Tom Riddle had presented himself as a puzzle, and it triggered her emotional response subconsciously.

Varya let out a caustic chuckle, refusing to accept that she had been deceived, that he had made her feel undermined just to rile her up. He had played with her ego, then, knowing very well that the witch was a ticking time bomb if he did that.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, eyes meeting Icarus', and the admiration in them made her lips part.

"Petrov, I should be frank with you, I have no idea why I am doing this, it almost feels like a betrayal to him, but you make me act out of character," he smiled sincerely, then cupped her chin slowly, "and perhaps, I just like it when chaos trails me, cannot help myself."

Varya scoffed, but there was a slight grin on her face, then she breathed out and looked at him with honesty, "He is not your friend, Icarus."

The boy laughed, his hand falling from her face as he spun around to walk her to the Great Hall. "Of course, he might think so. Riddle believes himself to be above us, that is a fair assumption on your part, and he did approach us because of our blood status, also fair. So yes, one might presume that the boy is somewhat of a blood gold-digger, and to the unknowing eye, it will seem like he is just a leader and us, his devoted followers, accompany him blindly."

"Is that not the truth?"

"Half-truth, he is a cruel leader, almost tyrannical, and perhaps we are mindless for believing in him, but I do see him as a friend of sorts. Furthermore, my observations have led me to believe that, to his best grasp of the concept, we are the closest thing he has to friendship," admitted Icarus.

They walked together, both feeling their hunger grow as they approached the main salon.

"But Rosier-"

"Rosier was bitten by a snake, my darling, nothing more," he said, but when he met her cold eyes, he knew she would not believe it. "Let me say this, then. Whatever Rosier brought upon himself, he did it knowingly."

"That is a macabre way of thinking," said Varya, although she could not deny that, to a certain extent, she agreed.

"We are all the same, even Ivy, and we have gotten ourselves involved in this because we want to," the boy said darkly, stopping right in front of the grand entrance. Then, he turned to her, "We are all on the brink of madness, Varya, and we have atrocious plans for the world. My only wish is that you will see the darkness, that you will embrace it just like we have. There is no place for morality or resentment between us, in the end, one thing matters, and that is power."

The girl watched Icarus Lestrange morph in front of her eyes; she watched him change from the mischievous sixteen-year-old boy that she had exchanged flirtatious gazes with to a cold, ruthless soldier. He was a boy that had been shaped by his beliefs and had welcomed the sinister song of the god of mischief, Loki, to play in his ear, to whisper temptation and sin.

She recognized then, that although he was capable of feelings that Tom Riddle would never dream of, he was not a naive boy that had been pulled in to doing horrifying things by a force he did not understand. His eyes were sharp, determined, and he was as much of a demon as Tom Riddle was.

They all knew what they were doing, they all wanted to be corrupt, and Varya believed that if she were to ask Dumbledore to show her the future again, she would see most of them, as well as their descendants, stand by Tom. They were loyal because they were all just as wicked, and it had been her mistake in assuming otherwise.

It was also her mistake that, at that moment, her heart carried no resentment toward Icarus Lestrange, only understanding.