Hello! My first author note! First of all, thank you so much for reading my book, commenting, and voting. No matter of how you have supported it, just know it encourages me to write and I appreciate it a lot.

Secondly, someone has taken the time to make a trailer for this story, and I have to say it is perfect! They even predicted some scenes that I have written in future chapters, which I found funny. Please watch it, it is quite amazing!

I am quite excited for how the plot will continue from this chapter, as tension starts bubbling and secrets get exposed, so if you have found the last few chapters dull, just know I have a lot up my sleeve. Also, every creature or story that is part of this book belongs to Eastern European folklore, and it is insane how much is tied to Hogwarts.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER TEN

Varya smiled as she watched Alphard Black send a string of ornamental spiders towards his girlfriend, Ivy Trouche, as they helped decorate the Great Hall for the upcoming Halloween feast. The sandy-haired girl screamed, thrashing around with her hands as to get them off, then threw her boyfriend a scowl she did not quite mean.

"Merlin, you are so noisy," came the cry of Elladora Selwyn, her flaming hair covering her annoyed grimace as she brought in a box full of golden candles. She set it on the Slytherin table, then flicked her wand, making them soar above their heads. They floated like grandiose birds, white and bright in their calming nature, and the castle's ghosts slithered around them hauntingly.

"Are you bitter, Selwyn?" teased Black, before his girlfriend could let out a few colorful words.

"Of course, the one boy she has been interested in does not acknowledge her," answered Ivy, a scoff leaving her lips. Elladora narrowed her eyes, a silent warning towards the Slytherin prefect.

"You fancy someone, Ella?" asked Varya, stunned at the information. She had never seen the girl as much as glance towards any of their classmates. Elladora turned to her, a forced smile on her face.

"Do not listen to Ivy, my dear, she has been drinking too much butterbeer at Hogsmeade," she said politely, eyes widened in faux concern, "You were greatly missed on the trip, by the way. I hope you will join us next time."

Varya sat on the table, dangling her feet over the edge as she swung her wand around, arranging pumpkins in the alcoves of the room. She hummed silently, knowing well that she would probably not be attending any of their short escapades. It seemed futile in the grand scheme of things, for she had not been sent to Hogwarts to chatter with the students. The girl was on a mission—she had one goal in mind, and that was to obey Dumbledore's instructions. And even though she discerned that there was no harm in fraternizing with her classmates, Petrov knew that it was more of a hassle than anything. She had always been rather secluded, her time at Scholomance having her focus on her sorcery and her curriculum more than anything, and that made her rather awkward when it came to socialization.

"Ah, Icarus would not stop with the saddened eyes," Alphard snickered, his eyebrows turning in mock distress. "Oh, will my dear Varya be lonely in that gloomy, freezing castle?"

Ivy laughed, playing along while making her voice an octave deeper, seemingly to imitate the Lestrange descendant, "Should I buy her this trinket? Would she relish it?".

Varya rolled her eyes at their dramaticism, knowing very well that Icarus was not the character that would spend his day agonizing over a girl. Although she had noticed his attention, she could not picture the prankster ever having any profound sentiment.

"Was Tom there?" she questioned, trying not to seem too interested as she kept sending spirals of fake bones towards the Gryffindor table. She had not seen the boy in the Common Room over the weekend and had only caught glimpses of him after Slughorn's party.

Elladora gave her a knowing look, "Tom does not usually join us either. As a matter of fact, I had suspected that you had stayed behind to spend time with him."

"Why would I do such a thing?" asked Varya, repulsed at what her roommate was implying. Elladora shrugged, not bothering to develop her thoughts.

"As if Varya would ever lower her standards for Riddle," said Ivy, her eyes holding pure hatred. She had not gotten over his meddling with her potion, and Varya knew she was planning on retaliation. Elladora rolled her eyes, dismissing her attitude.

"Riddle is not what you make of him, Trouche," she bit back, defensive.

"Oh, please! He is nothing but a scheming, controlling-" Black suddenly covered her mouth, pointing slightly to the figure that was approaching their table. Ivy frowned, not one to back down from a confrontation, but followed his lead and pretended to be distracted by the designs.

Riddle marched towards them, Nott and Avery trailing behind, and Varya marveled at the aristocracy that they pulsed. The three of them were arguably the most sophisticated of the group, and although Rosier was perhaps the representation of posh, Nott and Avery were real intellectuals.

Tom stopped to look at the progress that they had made with the Halloween Feast, then nodded, a pleased look on his face. He took out his wand and pointed it at the pumpkins that fenced the room, rearranging a few of them. Such a perfectionist, Varya told herself.

Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, the boy turned towards her and invited her to come closer with a swift hand motion. The girl hopped off her table, groaning as she knew that he would assign her more work to do. Tom Riddle took his prefect position seriously, perhaps to an extreme, and enjoyed delegating other Slytherins to do various tasks.

"Yes?" she grumbled, still resentful after their last conversation. She thought Tom felt the same way, as he avoided her stare. The tautness in his body, the way he held himself with such assurance—it irked her. Varya found it foolish for someone to be this fixed in their own standing. 

"We need more cauldrons of sweets," he said, eyes trailing the empty tables. "Headmaster Dippet has asked me to go to the kitchens and ask the house-elves for more, but I am quite busy. I assume you can handle it, Petrov?"

Varya gritted her teeth at his disdainful stare—he looked down at her as if she was a fragile child that could not fend for herself. Nevertheless, she nodded, eager to distance herself from the festivities for a second and have the endless chatter of the Great Hall fade to a low humming. She had not visited the kitchens yet and was genuinely delighted to do so. Hogwarts was not dull, and it certainly begged her to explore its intricate hallways and moving corridors, as though it was a maze with no definitive end. Late in the night, the lively scenery turned solemn, as the castle whined with nighttime and secrets, qualities that greased Petrov's curious soul.

She made her way to leave the hall, not bothering to give him a verbal reply. The kitchens were beneath the Great Hall, and as she walked inside, she smiled at the smell of delicacies that filled the room. The high ceilings, almost as grandiose as the feast chamber, were covered in pots and pans, and she watched as the elves scrambled across the floor, running from one appliance to another.

"No! No!" she heard a squicky voice yell, then felt a tug at her robes as a gaunt elf tried to drag her away. "No students! No students!".

Varya chuckled, then lowered herself down to meet him with gentle eyes, "I was sent by the Headmaster! He wanted to know if you have any candy cauldrons left."

The elf looked at her, its enormous ears flat against its head as it glanced around in alarm. Then, it hopped towards one of the tables, dragging Varya after.

"Rocky knows where they are!" the elf chanted, as he pointed a boney finger towards a cupboard. Varya directed her wand at it, opening it suddenly and making a few small bonbon cauldrons fly above their heads.

"Thank you!" she beamed at the tiny creature, then reached in one of the cauldrons and took out a candy bar, handing it to the elf, who seemed terrified at taking it.

"It is all right; it will be our little secret," Varya said in a hushed voice, winking at the elf as she watched it gleam at the candy, eventually accepting it and hiding it in its shredded uniform.

"Miss is so generous!" the elf cried, glistening pearls falling from his eyes in gratitude. "Oh, such kindness! Rocky will remember!"

Varya smiled, her heart piercing for the hapless elf, who had obviously not been on the receiving end of much sympathy. She thanked Rocky, then made her way back to the hallways, a set of candy containers floating behind her. She passed a few first-year Hufflepuffs, who pointed excitedly at the sweets and let out small gasps. They trailed behind her, shoving and laughing.

Varya's felt a cordial sensation overtake her as she realized that, for the first time in a while, she felt much like a child, giddiness pulsing through her veins. She felt light, almost as if she was floating, and radiated a felicitous glow.

One of the classroom doors opened, and Varya gave Icarus a warm smile, her skin twinkling at the sight of his faint blush. He bowed his head at her, then looked at the first-years who were watching them with attentive eyes.

"Sod off!" he joked, sending an innocent spell towards them, only to frighten them off. Varya snickered, then gently pushed him, not wanting to enable his troublemaking.

"They are children!" she said, eyes almost disappearing as she smiled.

"Well, I felt quite judged," Icarus joked, his hand flying to his chest in sham hurt, "and anyhow, they should be in class, not following beautiful girls around the school!"

Varya blushed, her heart hammering at the compliment. She did not know why, but after Lestrange had made that small gesture of comfort during her confrontation with Tom Riddle, and even dared try to speak out for her, she had been much more sensitive towards him.

They walked side by side towards the Great Hall, chatting enthusiastically about their day. Presumably, a fourth-year Gryffindor had set the Divination professor's robes on fire, and nobody knew how it had happened, as the task was to solely look in a crystal globe and "envision the future."

"Have you heard that professor Dumbledore is considering adding an Alchemy class?" Lestrange suddenly asked, his ragged voice making the girl shiver. "Will you join? It lets you drop an elective."

"I do not know," she answered truthfully, as she immensely enjoyed Care for Magical Creatures and Study Of Ancient Runes. "Do you think he would let me take on another class?"

"If anyone can do it, it will definitely be you," he complimented her, watching with delight as the girl went red at his praise.

They arrived at the Great Hall, and Varya's eyes folded in size when she saw Tom Riddle standing on a table, swinging his wand around as he charmed multiple flying bats to cover the hall's ceiling, screeching and rippling their wings.

"Heads down!" screamed someone, and Varya ducked just in time. Icarus, who was not paying attention, was not as fortunate, and Varya watched as a bat flew to his face, its little legs clasping at his robes and pulling in alarm.

Della Beauchamp, the other prefect girl from Slughorn's party, and a phenomenal Transfiguration student, immediately converted the bat back to a lollipop, then gently picked it off of Icarus' robes, popping it into her mouth much to the boy's disgust.

"That is a bat!" he said, horrified, face morphing in displeasure.

"Is not," she said nonchalantly, then smiled. "Ah, a mighty Slytherin saved by a low muggle-born, what a sight."

Varya snorted, shocked by the girl's courage, whose eyes only twinkled with mischief, and she suddenly wondered why she had not been placed in Gryffindor. There was a certain lightness to the witch, fluffy eyebrows rising in questioning arches as Lestrange huffed, then stormed off to join Nott and Avery as they placed a few dancing skeletons around the room.

Della giggled, "You know, I expected more of a fight, but I suppose there was not much to retort."

"He will be embarrassed for a while," Varya admitted while crossing her arms.

Della nodded, looking at Icarus, who was still bright red, the embarrassment clinging to his features like a scarlet mark. Then, she turned towards Varya, a toothy grin covering her face.

"Della Beauchamp," she said, eagerly shaking Varya's hand. "I saw you at Slughorn's party, and I just had this feeling, you know. Oh! I must talk to this girl; she seems quite special. Nevertheless, you were surrounded by Riddle and his fellow Slytherins, and I felt they might not appreciate my presence."

"Funny thing, I was thinking similarly," Varya admitted, remembering her first impression of the Ravenclaw prefect, who seemed to be the light of the room at the somber party. Shamefully, she had not approached her, too preoccupied with Tom.

"Well then, let this be the beginning of not only a blossoming friendship but also a statement." Della pronounced dramatically, her luminous energy infecting the ghostly girl.

The Headmaster walked through the doors, followed by most of the school's teachers, and Varya bid Della a short goodbye, as she walked to her house's table. She sat beside Elladora, who was making the last few touches in beautifying the table.

Students started to flow into the room, marveling at the beautiful decorations. One of the ghosts serenaded in a low vibrato, the bone-chilling music a lullaby to the eerie holiday, and students listened eagerly as their cheeks ripened with curiosity. Candlelight flickered above, where the wicks glistened like shimmering stars, casting shadows in the niches of the chamber, and the mesmerizing scent of fresh pumpkin charred the lungs of anyone who stood in the vicinity of the tables. The room was alive—the Halloween celebrations had commenced, the lip-smacking sweetness of candies already present in the atmosphere, and the young pupils laughed with delight at the banquette. 

The Great Hall stood pridefully awake, students looking around in joviality at the celebratory decorations, muttering words of flattery. As the ghosts passed the tables, humming delicate medieval songs, and the skeletons rocked their bones to the tune, the atmosphere of the room resembled that of a festive gathering. It was as if marzipan had been sewed into everyone's bones, having them turn cavity-inducing as the fading month of October brought the holiday season closer. 

Varya sighed in contempt, admiring the finished product of their work and collaboration, then looked at the teachers' table, where the Headmaster congratulated the prefects for their quick coordination.

She caught Dumbledore's eye once again, much as she always did when in the dining room, and gave him a slight nod, letting him know that she was still working on his task. Truthfully, Varya knew that she had not made much progress with Riddle in the past two months, unless the subtle threats and tension were what Dumbledore had thought of when he had asked her to change Tom Riddle, but it could not be helped.

Varya found Tom infuriating, and her own nature did not let her back down from his constant manipulation and menacing words, feeling the need to match him. She was horrified of the possibility of failure, and with each passing day, Tom only grew more sinister.

I shall try my best, then, she concluded and watched the Slytherin prefects make their way back towards them; Armando Dippet's voice boomed through the room, announcing the beginning of the feast. He clapped his hands dramatically, and a variety of delicacies appeared on the table, making the students gasp in awe.

Varya, who had never attended a feast before coming to Hogwarts, shared the same glee as the first-years, as her eyes fell on the assorted pumpkin pastries, stuffed turkey, and vegetable stew. The smell was intoxicating, and the students took no time to cheerfully dive in.

The Slytherin table roared with laughter as everyone chatted brightly, sharing stories of ghost encounters or tales of dark monstrosities. To the iniquitous house, DeathDay was as cheerful as Christmas, as they submerged themselves in wicked terror and goosebumps-inducing stories. Many of them talked as they chewed, glee a radiant look on their faces, and some even discussed the possibility of pranking the younger students by terrorizing them late into the midnight hour. They passed around the food—they ripped at the sweet bread, spread jam and peanut butter on it, stirred their vegetable soup, and feasted upon anything they could find.

"Wait, wait!" came the voice of Renold Rosier, and Varya felt her nerves settle slightly as he appeared to have gotten back to his feet after a week of absence. "I have heard all of your godforsaken stories for years, and no, Lestrange, I do not want to hear about how you terrified your baby cousin with your pranks."

A rumble of agreement passed amongst the table, and Icarus simply rolled his eyes, mumbling to himself about someone not enjoying a good story.

"This year, we have a newcomer, and not just any," Rosier continued, his hands gesturing towards Varya," but one that happened to live in some of the darkest woods known to the wizarding world, amongst dragons and strigoi. Why not let her speak?".

Varya looked around, meeting the expectant gazes of her peers, then shook her head, not wanting to dwell on her past. Ren was not wrong; she realized with half a heart that she probably knew many more tales than the rest. Most of them, however, were not mere stories. They were encounters with creatures that terrorized the surrounding forests of Scholomance, beasts that sauntered well into the night, tricking and deceiving anyone who was foolish enough to stay out past sunset. Her skin covered in goosebumps—at Hogwarts, they celebrated monsters during such holidays, but at Scholomance they were a pestering reality, parasites which plagued their lands.

"Oh, do not be like that," said Elladora, who had taken to brewing some tea with her wand, then passed Varya a warm cup. "I am sure everyone here is just as curious as I."

Varya sighed, her eyes getting lost for a second, before meeting the darkness of Tom Riddle, who looked at her with some interest. Her heart drummed, her pulse quickened—the sinister note in his expression made her feel uneasy, as if he were making a claim on her soul. Suddenly, a story came to mind, and she chuckled bitterly at the painful irony of it.

"Very well," she began, earning cheers from those who surrounded her. By now, a small crowd had formed, eager to hear the frightening stories of the Dark Church. "But I must warn you, this is not for the light-hearted." she joked.

"Good thing this is the not the Hufflepuff table!" someone quipped from the crowd, and Varya frowned at the distasteful humor before starting her story.

"As you might know, Eastern Europe carries a great variety of tales, but growing up, I was always captured by one in particular: Koschei the Deathless." she started, immediately noticing the crippling silence that fell around the table as every pair of ears perked at her story, curious. "A long time ago, when the plague still corrupted the lands of Europe, many wizards watched their numbers grow smaller and smaller by the day. Although they had magic in their blood, it did not seem to shelter them from the horror of their worst enemy- death."

Varya let her eyes wander to Tom, who oversaw her, drinking in on her words. "But Koschei, a powerful sorcerer, did not want to fall to its fate, and so he decided to strive for something that most could not even phantom. Immortality."

"Oh, I like this," came a sneer from the crowd, and Varya saw a seventh year Slytherin girl rest her head in her palms, invested in the story.

"He searched endlessly, maddened by his fear of death until he came upon a book, a dark book, that had been kept in the ruins of a church. It told tales of greatness, and although it carried enough knowledge to ensure that Koschei would become the most powerful wizard, he only cared for one thing. Eventually, he came across a passage that told him how to preserve his existence, to become stuck in time."

"How?" questioned Alphard Black as he put a protective arm around Ivy.

"By splitting his soul into pieces," Varya said, a grave note in her voice, "and stuffing them into objects of his choice."

She tried her best not to look at Tom Riddle, who had stiffened, his breath coming out softly as he leaned towards her, almost as if he was in a trance. Varya could not help herself, however, and met his eyes. She shivered, taken aback by the lunatic glare that possessed them, his mental grasp breaking.

"Go on," he urged her, and if anyone noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, nobody made a remark on it.

"And so he did just that," she continued, trembling slightly under Tom's powerful gaze. "He split his soul and placed a piece in a needle, which he placed in an egg, which in turn he hid in a duck, who got stuffed in a rabbit. Then, the rabbit was placed in a crystal chest and dug beneath an old oak tree."

"Wait, a needle in an egg, in a duck, in a rabbit and then in a chest? That makes no sense," said Maxwell Nott, scoffing at the irrational story.

"It is a story, you rogue! It is not supposed to make sense," answered Ivy, hitting Nott over the head.

Varya ignored them, then continued. "But you see, there was a price to pay for immortality. Nature required balance, so Koschei became a deformed monster, his face much alike to that of a creature. The villagers took notice of it, and eventually, Marya, a warrior princess, captured him and chained him down in one of her mason's chambers, locked away from the world."

"That cannot possibly be the end," scoffed Tom Riddle, annoyed at Varya's retelling. "A powerful wizard gets taken by a frail woman?"

"Well, first of all, she was a warrior," Varya bit back. "And I did not say it was the end, let me finish! Regardless, eventually, Marya met a man, Prince Ivan, a mere human, and they fell in love. When she was called to war, she left him at home, but not before warning him to keep away from the locked door. Despite this, Ivan's human nature took the best of him, and his curiosity made him open the chamber, inevitably releasing the monster that was Koschei."

"Bloody muggles," breathed out Rosier, annoyed at Ivan's daftness.

"Koschei the Deathless killed the man in cold blood, cutting him into pieces and stuffing him in a barrel- then, he dumped his body in the sea. When Marya came back, she was heartbroken, and she swore to take revenge. She sought out the chest and dug it up, opening it slowly. She chased the rabbit and killed it, then, she caught the duck and cut its head. Eventually, she took the egg and smashed it, while also breaking the needle that nested Koschei's soul."

"She set on a journey against the most powerful wizard of all time because her lover was killed?" scoffed Riddle, unimpressed. "Love, such a fault."

"Well actually, it made her brave," retorted Varya, aware of the Slytherin eyes that watched the two argue. "And I am still not done, Riddle. Eventually, Ivan's sisters heard of his faith, and they had married powerful wizards. They asked them to resurrect the Prince, and they obeyed, bringing him back to life and reuniting him with Marya. Then, the two of them set out to find Koschei the Deathless, who had laid a rampage over a nearby village. They confronted him and took him down with a swing of their swords."

The students clapped merrily, fascinated by the tale, yet Tom continued to glower, unmistakably displeased by the ending. He remained restless, eyebrows pulled in an expression that Varya could not quite grasp, as if he was trying to understand something in her story and was failing.

"That is ridiculous," he concluded, slowly getting up from his chair. "You mean to tell me that all it took to defeat a dark sorcerer was...love?" He spat the words at her, ignoring the concerned looks of his followers. Tom Riddle was acting out of his pretended character, his impeccable appearance cracking.

"Losing those you care for can truly change you, Riddle," said Varya, looking him dead in the eye.

Tom Riddle clenched his jaw, scoffing at the girl's foolishness. His mind twirled and spun, thoughts flying around and crashing into each other; as he looked at her, a newfound intrigue set in. What did this girl know of immortality? Moreover, how did her story manage to be so similar to his current conquest? She was hiding something, Tom was sure of it, and at that moment, he swore to find out, even if it meant breaking her into pieces.