CHAPTER TWELVE

Ivy was beaming as she turned around, showing Varya her Quidditch attire proudly. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, and against the emerald color of the Slytherin house, it seemed to glow even brighter than typical. They were sitting in their room, and Elladora was on Varya's bed, picking at her nails in indifference.

"You know," Varya started, suddenly bubbling with laughter. "Sometimes, I think you might be related to Malfoy; you look so similar."

Ivy scowled, but Elladora smiled at the notion, nodding to confirm her thoughts. "I agree, but I would not be shocked if they were."

"How come?" questioned the raven-haired girl, picking up a book off the nightstand that stood beside her bed. She had been visiting the library quite often in the past few days, trying to find some sort of book that might explain the oddity from the beginning of the week. Up until now, she had not been successful, but as she stared at the Most Macabre Monstrosities book, she felt hope pulse through her body.

"Were you not aware of the severe interbreeding that happens between the Sacred-Twenty Eight? I would be surprised if half of us were not distant cousins or something akin to that," answered Elladora, rolling her eyes at the look Ivy shot her.

"Bloody hell, Selwyn, do not say that!"

"Why, afraid Black is your three-times removed cousin?"

Varya let them squabble in the background, already used to their antics. She flung herself on her bed, opening her book, and relishing in the way its leather binding felt against her palms. Elladora moved to make room for her on the bed, then looked at what she was reading.

"What are you studying?" she asked, trying to peek at the title.

"Most Macabre Monstrosities," answered Varya, flipping another book page as she skimmed over it. Elladora's eyes enlarged, but if she thought anything, she did not say a word.

Ivy's dulcet voice came from the other end of the room, asking Varya to help her get cat hair off her uniform. They had practice in a few minutes, and the girl was running around the room in a hurry, trying to get everything in order.

Elladora rolled her eyes at the girl, and Varya got up to help her friend. "That is my cue to leave," said the cherry-haired girl as she swayed her feet off the bed and on to the ground. Varya bid her goodbye and headed to her other roommate, whose eyes were watery and slightly swollen.

"It has to be cat hair," she said, pulling at her uniform. "It is making my allergies go mad."

"But I cannot see any," Varya admitted, fingers feeling the shirt's material for hair. "And besides, nobody here has a cat."

"Alphard's dreadful roommate does, he hides it whenever I visit, but I swear Varya if that little rat laid its paws on my Quidditch uniform," Ivy fumed, words muttered through gritted teeth.

"Perhaps it is something else," Varya concluded, giving up the search.

"I am only allergic to two things, Varya," Ivy said, pulling her shirt over her head and throwing it to the side. She still had her turtleneck on, but she pulled at its collar aggressively. "And unless you happen to have some witch's berry on you, I doubt it is anything but cat hair."

"Witch berry?" Varya asked, frowning at the unknown name.

"Yes, it is a plant, and I am allergic to it," Ivy answered, making her way to her closet trunk to pull out a spare uniform.

"It sounds vaguely familiar," the other girl admitted as she went back to her bed, eyes trailing after her roommate's fanatic figure.

"Yes, you might know it as Belladona; we use it in Potions class sometimes. I always have to give Slughorn a slip to excuse myself from those lessons or drink a resistance potion from the infirmary," her eyes darted around the room, a small aha! leaving her lips once she spotted her gloves in Elladora's bed. The girl had a bad habit of borrowing her roommate's things without asking. "By the way, has your illness subdued?"

"Yes," Varya lied, knowing that her roommate would have scolded her otherwise. Truthfully, she had gotten better briefly, but after spending the night in the rain, her sickness had returned, and Varya was once again a jumble of thoughts.

"Good, you still look a bit pale, no offense, but I think you are just adjusting to the Scottish climate," Ivy said, then picked up her broomstick. "Walk with me?"

"Sure, let me just grab my book," Varya smiled, then turned to where she thought she had left her book. When she could not see it, she pouted, confused at its disappearance. "Ivy, did you happen to see my library volume?"

The blonde shook her head, then urged her to leave as she was already late for her practice. Varya brushed it off, deciding to look for it when she came back to her dorm. She picked up her school bag, then exited after her roommate.

As they walked down the hallway, they chattered happily about their week, and when Varya admitted that she had never ridden a broom, Ivy gasped, then raved about how she would teach her friend how to use one. She continued to talk about the freeing feeling of flying, waving her hands around enthusiastically, and Varya smiled, grateful for her presence.

Then, her friend's face went solemn.

"Varya, I have not brought this up in a while, because it always seemed as if there were other people around us, but I cannot help myself anymore," she said, voice fallen below a whisper. "Tom has been getting to Alphard lately, trying to get him to join his gang of misfits. I think they might be doing it to spite me; I would not put it past them. However, Alphard feels pressured to join. You see, he is a Black, and if the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight heirs are forming some group, his parents will have him join."

"What about your parents?" asked Varya, knowing of her friend's origins.

"My parents are more troubled with me learning how to waltz and be a socialite. They think women are accessories and should act accordingly. Bunch of old gargoyles, outdated views." she huffed, annoyed at her predicament.

"And what do you want us to do?" Varya questioned, still hesitant about her friend's plan. They stopped before the entrance to the Quidditch field, checking if anyone was listening.

"I think you should get close to Riddle," Ivy said, and Varya almost laughed at the paradox. Yes, getting close to Tom. That was her task, was it not? Nevertheless, whenever she tried to approach the boy, he seemed to grow extremely reserved. Thinking back, perhaps threatening to expose his secrets and alluding to his plans through a story were not her best moves, but she could not help herself.

She had not spoken to Tom Riddle since the Halloween feast, and whenever they were in the same room, the tension churned, threatening to spill over the edge. In every class, they pretended the other was not present, and that irritated Varya to no ends. She did not know why, but she did not relish how the boy suddenly behaved as if she was not in the room, joining the ranks of Abraxas Malfoy and Maxwell Nott, who also seemed to not pay notice to her.

Ever since her dialogue with Avery, she had made a practice of hanging out at the library for longer hours, trying to catch sight of either Nott or Riddle, but they both seemed to evade her, almost as if they knew that she was looking for them. It was a misplaced game of cat and mouse, and Varya was growing bored.

"Well, first of all, I do not even know how to do that; he is much like a serpent and trusts nobody. I doubt he even shares much with his so-called friends. Moreover, say that I somehow was to gain his commandery, how would that help you expose him?" Varya said, puzzled at her friend's plan.

"Yes, perhaps he does not report everything to his friends. He is quite closed off. I agree with that. But Varya, there is something that he puts his trust and secrets in," at Varya's raised eyebrow, Ivy continued. "His diary."

Varya paled, "Surely, you do not want me to steal his journal!"

Ivy grabbed her friend's shoulders, holding them gently as she looked in her eyes with poise. "Think about it, Varya, it holds all of his secrets, and if we get it, we can show everyone that he is solely a charlatan."

Varya thought it over, doubtful. She wanted to help her friend, and she had her curiosity about Riddle's thoughts, but her plan clashed with the task Dumbledore had assigned her, and as much as she thought Alphard Black did not deserve to be dragged into whatever it was that Riddle was planning, she knew that many more lives would be lost if the did not change Tom's fate.

If fate could be changed.

"I will try," she lied, heart stinging at the betrayal she was bestowing upon her friend. Ivy smiled, relaxing at the thought of having won Varya over, then she looked at the arena.

"I must go," Trouche said, then waved to her friend, before running to her team, who was giving her a disapproving stare.

Varya sighed, shutting her eyes and letting the breeze blow at her face. She was conflicted, her soul tangled between the two possibilities she now faced: was she Tom Riddle's savior or his downfall?

***

Varya pushed against the stout door that led to the library, her hands weakened by her illness. She had grown somewhat feverish over the past hours and wanted to retract to a secluded table, then read to her heart's yearning. Although she had not found her volume of Most Macabre Monstrosities, she resolved to borrow a book of literature, wanting to let her mind unwind for a short while.

With the month of December coming in at full force, the peril of exams loomed over the heads of Hogwarts' students, who had been spending their nights cramming in hidden corners of the library. It was the Ravenclaws, above all, who were always the last to leave the room full of books, and Varya had found herself often sharing a table with Della Beauchamp, the house's perfect.

Much as she had thought, Della was a delightful presence, a breath of crisp air from the constant brooding of the Slytherin mob. She was sunny, her inventive nature coming up with the most humorous tales and anecdotes, and she seemed to always be in a pleasant state.

Now, however, she was nowhere in sight, and as Varya scurried between the endless shelves of books, it was another face that she caught in the crowd. Tom Riddle was in one of the room's corners, hunched over a parchment and scribbling feverishly. Varya drew in a breath, observing him as he concentrated, a slight crease between his dusky eyebrows. Then, she headed his way, pulling a chair across from him much as he had done during her first month at Hogwarts, then sitting down.

Tom's eyes locked on her own, a glacial abyss of catastrophe and astute clashing against the surprisingly soft swirl of smoke and ash. He regarded her with crudeness, his face scrunched in an absolute glower, following her dexterous hands as she placed her novel on the table. His figure had gone rigid at her presence, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement.

"What are you doing here?" his sardonic timbre did not fluster her, as she had grown used to his most recent behavior.

"Reading, well, of course," she answered in a gentle tone, and he hoisted an eyebrow at it, fairly used to her natural resistive character.

As he watched her maneuver her way with her book, he could tell something was amiss. Her movements were slugged, missing the natural airiness that she usually possessed, and her back was slightly hunched, an indication of tiredness. Her lips were bristly and had faded to a soft hue of rose, to the point where they resembled more of a corpse's than a human's, and the eyes were smoked over, reddened in the whites. Perhaps, the most startling thing was the girl's locks, as they hung over her shoulder, a cascade of ash and washed ink. Her hair missed its radiance, the silkiness that made it move like tall grass in the spring breeze.

Tom wondered if she was aware of her deplorable appearance, or if he had spent so many hours inspecting her and antagonizing her in his thoughts that he had retained every inch of her profile.

"Do it someplace else," his voice carried a finality that she did not quite fancy.

"Why are you such an arse to me all of a sudden?" she asked abruptly, taking him by surprise. Tom straightened his back, then closed the textbook that he had been copying note from, and glanced at her,

"My, my, Petrov, I knew you were frail of heart, but I did not expect you to come soliciting attention." he mocked, his jeer not missing the girl.

"Soliciting attention? You must have mistaken me for someone else, Riddle. I only want to know why you have been evading me."

Tom clicked his tongue, then inclined forward the meet her recalcitrant eyes. A part of him was glad that, although they seemed to be extinguished by her sickness, she still carried her usual fierceness.

"Do you not feel pitiful to question me like this? As if I owe you my presence," he asked, smirking at her hostile stare.

"I am not pitiful, quite the contrary," she said, matching his posture as she leaned over too. Varya grinned at him, skin burning frantically with muffled rage, "I am asking you, Riddle, because I feel entitled to your answer. I do not care what you think of me; make no mistake. I ask because I know few would dare to question you. That does not make me feeble."

"But it does make you a fool," his secretive tone made her tremble, eyes never leaving the other. Then, ripping the tension with a forced smile, Tom leaned back, his spine resting against his chair. "I was not avoiding you."

"Bullshit." the girl deadpanned, earning yet another bewildered look from the boy at her vulgar language.

"You seem to forget I am quite busy, Petrov. I do not fickle to no end like the rest of you, my presence is a gift, not an entitlement," he said arrogantly, toying with the wand in his hand, "And besides, I did not think you took well to me. Truthfully, it is quite surprising to see you bothered by my absence."

Varya bit back a witty remark, reminding herself that she was supposed to gain his trust, not send him flying away yet again. She wondered, for a second, how to best answer his taunt, as she doubted he would appreciate her fake sweetness, much less respect it.

"I had something I wanted to ask you," she lied, knowing that she had to trigger his curiosity.

"Go on, then," he gestured, telling her to ask her question.

"Come to Hogsmeade with me," Varya said, immediately lamenting how she had phrased it. Moreover, by the belittling look that Tom gave her, she knew it had come off wrong.

Tom scoffed, placing his wand on the table and frowning at her, "Are you asking me out on a date, Petrov?" Then, suddenly, his manner changed, a taunting smile swinging off of his lips. "How will poor Icarus feel about that?"

Varya cursed at herself, hating how her cheeks fired at the mention of her and Tom going on a rendezvous, then immediately gave him a glare. "Not as a date, Tom. I need to go to Tomes and Scrolls, they have a book that I am in need of, and I do not know my way around the wizard town."

"I believe you are somewhat of a clever witch, so I doubt you would get lost, and even so, why not ask your dreadful friends to accompany you? Surely, you would enjoy their company more." Tom said, jeering at her request.

Varya felt her heart speed up as she grappled with finding a better pretext, hating her flawed plan already. She knew that if she were to get Tom to trust her, no matter what outcome she might decide upon, she had to get him to spend time with her. Alone.

"Fine," she eventually said, settling on a convincible lie. "You caught me, I need you to come with me because I want to practice my dark arts spells, and I know nobody else would take me up on the offer."

She hated the way he looked at her, almost as if he was all-knowing, capable of seeing right through her every word. For a second, the girl fretted that he was using Legilimency on her, trying to grab at her mess of thoughts. Nevertheless, when he gave her a slight smirk, she knew he had won him over.

"Of course, my dear," he said, voice so modulated it made Varya wonder if he was genuine or merely a mirage. "There is nothing that I enjoy more than a good dabble with martial magic. You must've only asked sincerely from the start, and I would have accepted."

Something in his tone made Varya grow rigid, unsure of whether he was scheming and attempting to manipulate her. To her, Riddle was an eternal enigma, and while she could sometimes grasp bits and pieces, the puzzle never seemed to complete. Right now, her intuition told her that the boy was plotting, his mind slowly turning, but his grace played jests on her spirit.

Varya nodded, suddenly feeling smothered under his stare, then told him that they were to visit Hogsmeade over the weekend. She fastened her books and left the room in a flurry, pulling at her robes as she felt the hotness rising against her skin. Behind her, Tom Riddle wore an unutterable expression, the only thing that indicated maliciousness being his cunning leer.