thank you @supremegae for this amazing gif and, of course, the covers!

CHAPTER FIVE

Her cheek warmed up from the morning beams of sunshine, the sound of birds twittering invading her auditory realm long before her eyelashes waved open. Varya scrunched her nose as dawn settled over the Malfoy Manor, nature resounding along to the early hours, and the witch pushed her hair out of her face before stretching long limbs over the couch's edges.

She hoisted her body up, peeping around the study that glistened with light, particles of dust dancing in the air as static fell over everything, and the only sound that permeated the room beside the tune of fauna was the light breathing that came from the desk.

Tom Riddle's head rested on an amalgam of scattered papers, almost as if he had fallen asleep while reading them, and his hands still gripped a feathered quill that had stained a document with ink. His curls fell over, cheek squished against the wooden board, and his body moved rhythmically with breaths of somnolence. His long eyelashes were closed tight, and his forehead carried an unmistakable crease that rarely left his heavenly features.

Perhaps, he would have called her odd for staring at him the way she was, might have even condemned her heart for twisting with ache, but it was moments such as that one that had Varya understand her love for him— when he was vulnerable, his defense shattered to the ground, flaws exposed to the world as he engaged in worldly things that did not suit his faultless facade.

The witch got up to her feet, then strolled over to the desk, eyes trailing the endless documents that the boy had been revising. And then curiosity took over as she saw familiar names draped over the parchments— hers, Felix, Indra, Lev, even Della. She knitted her eyebrow in confusion, trepidation settling in, and then reached out to grab one right from under his nose.

A hand darted out, and slender fingers clasped around her wrist.

"What are you doing?" mumbled Tom with wrath in his groggy voice, and it rasped in the lower register as he trained clashing waves of Poseidon's rage on her, almost drowning the witch in their profundity.

She did not move away from him, mind still smudged from her recent awakening, and all she registered was the tinkling where his hand touched her skin. Tom became aware of it too, and his eyes drifted to the spot where his thumb was slowly rubbing circles on her wrist unconsciously. He dropped it as if scorched, and repugnance struck his features.

"I suggest you go get dressed for breakfast," he muttered as he hurried to collect everything, opening a drawer on the right side and then shutting it close. Tom pulled a key out of his pocket, then twisted it into the lock, which shut with undoubted magic.

The girl frowned at the highly suspicious conduct, making a note of every movement, yet she was aware that inquiring of his scrupulous behavior would do nothing except anger him. So, she pursed her lips in evident discontent, making sure to put on a disturbed facade that would deceive the boy into thinking the discussion was far from ever. Except it was, because she would not be asking him anything about it anymore. Varya would find another way.

"I will see you there," she mumbled, then turned around and left Tom to lean in his chair as he watched her step out of the room.

The boy bit the inside of his cheek, and the emptiness of the room suddenly weighed down his shoulders tenfold as loneliness crept back into his being. Riddle had not realized how severely her return would affect him. In the months that had passed, he had devoted himself to the library, collecting whatever information he could find on the Deathly Hallows and their ancestry.

Being alone had become a habit, and even when the other Knights surrounded him, their presence was not enough to fill in her absence, and his guts twisted with agony whenever he stepped inside the Ravenclaw Salon and glanced at the spot where he had tried to kill her.

The spot where he had realized that even Satan had found comfort in Lilith, that the wickedest deity to run Hell had allowed himself to care for another, and perhaps even evilness like theirs could expand brutal tentacles to immobilize a companion. Eternity seemed quite long to be all alone.

The wizard shook his head in distress, banishing away such thoughts that had been poisoning his mind for months now, parts of her warmth and her sorrow that had entwined themselves in his own being. He could hear it even now, the way her mind churned with emotions he did not understand, fusion of light and dark— Merlin, did the witch ever stop thinking?

A knock sounded on the wooden door that she had left open, and Tom raised his head to give Abraxas Malfoy an irritated look, "What is it?"

His right-hand paid no mind to his morning grogginess, having experienced it every day during their six years of sharing a dormitory room at Hogwarts, "You should interrogate the prisoner today. There is no point in having him locked in the dungeons unless we extract the information from him. My staff has been complaining of his behavior; he is quite a brute."

Riddle's eyebrow hoisted, and then with a deep sigh, he leaned over his desk and opened the drawer back up, hands drifting through the documents until he pulled out the file that Malfoy undoubtedly wanted, "Make sure Avery reads the records before he starts babbling."

Abraxas nodded as he took the report swiftly, stuffing it under his arm, "Who should carry out such task? Do you wish for me to accompany Avery and Rosier once again?"

"No," Tom mussed as he supported his body with his hands over the wooden desk, arms clenching while he hoisted himself up, "As a matter of fact, I believe that we test the powers of our new arrivals. After all, it is only fair they help us in accomplishing this task."

"I do not think they are suited for the means of interrogation we are accustomed to."

"Perhaps," said Riddle as he grabbed his tie from the desk and wrapped it around his neck. There was no time to change before their first meal, not with Malfoy drumming his brain like that, "But they must learn."

Malfoy was still unconvinced, but he made no objection to his leader's plan, "Who do you suggest, then?"

Tom looked at him with a mocking smirk, "Tell me what you think."

That was their dynamic— the back and forth between two rulers of different realms, one who understood the evilness and twisting of the human psyche, the other who controlled the bourgeoise unlike anyone else. It went without a doubt that Abraxas was as good of a leader as he was a follower, and Riddle trusted his judgment above everyone else.

The platinum-haired wizard frowned as his eyes mystified, and he licked his lips while processing the information he knew on the Obscurial's group, "The empath would provide a new approach at interrogating. As much as Avery enjoys cutting their fingers and lacerating them with the Unforgivable Curse, she could torture their mind."

"Precisely. Now, who else?"

"The lumomancer, the report said she could use optics to cast illusions, although..."

"Spit it out."

"I am unsure if any of them would accept acting without Varya being there, and there is not enough room in the cell for more than four people. The empath is a better choice, and Varya is a required presence."

Tom opened the door to the corridor, a content smirk painting his expression as he inclined his head in approval. Both wizards stepped into the hallway and marched down, postures imperial and chins held high, and had it not been for their visual differences, one might have mistaken them to be brothers.

The dining room was half empty, with most of the foreigners still in their beds due to the exhaustion caused by the previous day. Nicholas Avery sat down on one side of the table, a cup of dark, unsweetened coffee in his hand as his eyes trailed the headlines of the Daily Prophet. He turned to glance at his closest friend, Maxwell Nott, who was reading a volume on muggle algebra while scribbling notes down on parchment. Avery stuffed the paper in front of his bookish nose.

"Why in Satan's name did they publish this— bachelor Nicholas Avery finds a partner in Lord Winterbour's youngest daughter? Fucking bullshit, bloodsucking vampires that they are," Nicholas moaned loudly before slamming his fist against the oak grand table.

It made Nott's quill drag on the parchment, and he raised frustrated eyebrows to his friend before glancing at the headline. He snorted, "I would be more worried about the picture that they used of you. Hideous."

Avery pulled the magazine back, staring at his moving face on the front page, "I do not see anything wrong with it."

Maxwell gazed at him with lethargy on his face, then simply pointed at his hair, "Awful."

Tom sat down at the head of the table, Abraxas by his side, and scoffed as he watched Avery suddenly place a lustrous goblet in front of his face and move his head in every direction to asses his hair. Then, the butchered groaned in exasperation, running a frustrated hand through honey locks and pulling at his roots.

He turned to Malfoy, who had started pouring himself a cup of tea, "Abraxas, how did you deal with the article they published on you a few days ago? With the muggle-born, yeah?"

"My father took care of it," the other wizard mumbled before bringing the brew to his lips and sipping on it quietly. Then, he set it down on one of the black coasters the maids had brought him. "But since your family is pushing your engagement, I suppose that advice will do you no good."

"Merlin's ballsack," mumbled the boy as he let his head fall into his hands.

Maxwell glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, "I told you they were not pleased with you sleeping around."

"And I said I did not care!"

"And where has that gotten you?"

"Hell," Avery sighed dramatically right as the doors of the hall swung open, and in stepped the woman he dreaded the most— Ophelia Winterbour, dressed in her usual silky dress as she wandered to a seat opposite of him.

Even her perfume suffocated the boy, and he had to lean as far away from her as she could, cursing Riddle for finding her aristocracy and intellect an excellent addition to their band of mischiefs. Her hair had been pulled back from her profile, exposing slightly tanned skin and a heart-shaped face. Ophelia was undoubtedly beautiful, her grace making Abraxas' eyes automatically drift to her, and she would have been a fine conquest had it not been shoved down his throat.

More so, Nicholas did not take well to her disturbing the balance of the group. There had always been seven of them, and even when Lopheus Evergreen or others had joined, none of them had been quite so...present. They came, they did their job, and then they left. But Winterbour? She had become a commodity.

"Morning, darling," she chirped to him, smirking when he only jeered at her appearance before opening the newspaper and covering his face with it. She glanced around the table, "Well, where is everyone else?"

The doors opened again, and in stepped Elladora Selwyn and Renold Rosier, both wearing ravishing attire as they whispered about something no other Knight would care for. The girl was not wearing a dress, yet her skirt still hung below her knees in soft fabrics and clung to her waist carefully, cherry hair braided in a low tail and side bangs swept to the sides. The boy, who conducted them to sit next to Ophelia and positioned himself between the two felines, wore a loose vest over a pristine dark blouse, tucked in black trousers.

"Where is Icarus?" spoke Rosier as he took everyone in, frowning at the boy's absence.

"Shagging some staff member, no doubt," blurted Avery with obvious jealousy lacing his voice.

"Merlin, is that all you can think of?" croaked Elladora, fingers gripping the table cloth in suppressed anger, and she felt Rosier glance at her with warning in his eyes. Had it not been for him, the witch would have undoubtedly spiked the food of every single maid in the building in the upcoming days.

Tom crossed his arms, vein drumming on his temple at the misbehavior of his acolytes, who insisted on disappointing him with their perpetual punny conversations. In the past few months, he had been hearing more and more of their nonsense, almost as if they had grown too comfortable to exhibit such attitude in his presence.

Right as he was about to reprimand them with venomous words, the entrance swung open, and in walked Varya accompanied by some of her satellites, orbiting around her with trepidation evident in their eyes. They stood woodenly and oddly amongst the finely dressed Knights, who had grown up learning that every meal was an occasion for glamor and glitz, with elegant appetizers and delightful herbal brews.

Varya was the most peculiar— she held in their center with an earthly tunic draped around her boney figure, belt fastened in the middle and around her stomach as it carried her weapons of choice. Soft trousers covered her legs as they fell loosely around her calves, and on top, there was a long coat that made her appear to be a soldier and nothing more, embroidered with golden threads in swirling patterns.

The witch should have been a laughing stock in her stitched overcoat, feet covered with stuffy boots; hair pulled in two Eastern-styled braids that fell over her scapular bones. They should all have found her advancing to the table with martial steps and sitting at the opposite head of Tom ridiculous, perhaps blasphemous, especially in the presence of Elladora and Ophelia, who were wearing such sophisticated fashion pieces— but she was only powerful.

Quietness fell over the room as the Knights turned to glance at their leader, unsure of how he would react to someone sitting almost as an equal to him, yet Tom was only looking at her with satisfaction, relishing in the vigor and pride she carried on her shoulders.

At Hogwarts, she had been feeble— too weak to rise to her true nature and assume the role of a great conqueror. Varya had denied her undefeatable power with such stubbornness he had almost given up in having her burst with capability. Now, the witch was different—ruthless, cruel, militaristic.

"Where are the rest of your little friends?" the Dark Wizard mussed as he took in the two figures that had accompanied her.

One he recognized as one of the Myung siblings, the boy who had raised his tongue against their capture the previous night, and Tom stiffened as he watched him sit down on Varya's right side. Rosier had provided a detailed report on him the moment they discovered his association with the Eastern witch. What was most mysterious about the boy was that no record had him under an official name. While his surname stayed unchanged, the boy and his sister had switched to an alias when they had left Korea, probably to prevent from being tracked.

On her left sat the empath, Ananke Navarro, the one he had the least information available about, and she hid her tanned face behind a curtain of mousse curls. If his files were correct, she had come all the way from South America to accompany Varya, and while the rest of her group had had at least some connection to Newton Scamander and his allies, Navarro had almost appeared out of thin air.

"They are resting," announced Varya, onyx eyes dashing to him from under sable eyelashes, and whatever warmth they had carried during their encounter last night had vanished. Now, there was only resentment.

"Very well, then," Tom announced, sparing a look to Abraxas, who snapped his fingers in the air promptly. The kitchen doors flew open, and in walked servants with trays of various meals, the scent of freshly baked bread and bacon cascading from the plates.

They dug in with appetite, biting down on scones and serving themselves with countless eggs as all engaged in small talk, yet the clear line drawn between the two groups irritated the eye of anyone who glanced around the chamber.

"Well, little vixen, what have you been up to?" inquired Avery with a mischievous smirk stamped on his expression.

Varya chewed on a bit of buttered bread, then swallowed before answering with indifference, "Murdering people."

The assassin's eyebrows lifted in wonder, "Oh, well then, you are perfect for this little task I have for you. You see, during our time at the Malfoy Manor, we have managed to collect quite a bit of information on multiple people that have been on the front lines, and one thing led to another and—"

"We need you and your little empath to torture someone," finished Maxwell, finally settling his quill down after he had solved enough problems to become familiar with the systematic algorithm.

Navarro lifted her eyes from her plate, darkness pooling in her irises as she regarded the two boys, "And why would we do that?"

"For fun," snorted Avery, then glanced at Nott for approval, who rolled his eyes in distaste.

Varya, on the other hand, perked her ears at that— not because she considered it to be entertaining, but because it was a way to slither in and listen in on the conversations and interrogations the Knights carried out regularly.

"Very well," she answered, eyeing Ananke, who had shifted with disapproval, but one look from Petrov had her quiet down immediately, "Who else is joining us?"

Nicholas turned to Rosier, who was playing with the food in his plate absentmindedly, a distraught look on his face, "Ren, are you coming to the dungeons?"

The boy's eyes snapped up, almost as if he had been wholly entranced by something else, and then shook his head vigorously, "No can do, mate."

"How come?"

Renold stood up from the table carefully, folding his napkin before placing it near his almost full plate, and he bit his lip as he thought about how to word his answer properly. Elladora, who knew the reason behind his peculiar behavior, spoke out before he could, "He is accompanying me to the Church. My family lives nearby, as you are aware, and has requested my presence. It is not safe for me to travel alone, however."

A beautifully crafted white lie— indeed, Renold was going to the Church, but not because Selwyn's family had requested their appearance. That date marked the anniversary of his sister's death, and the boy had wished to evade their constant plotting for a day and light a candle in her name. He did not believe in God, he had long ago given up on putting blind faith in things he could not see, but his sister had. And even just for the sake of keeping her wishes, he would have stomped on his own belief and prayed for her soul once a year. Merlin only knows where it had run off to.

"Fine," grunted Avery, then scanned the table for a new contender as Rosier stepped out of the room. His eyes settled on Lev, who was cutting down his eggs diligently in perfectly equal pieces and making sure none of his sides touched on his plate, "Shadow boy, where is your sister?"

The shadowmancer peeped up at that, his expression crafted from the rocks of Stonehenge, "What is it to you?" he demanded, his voice so deep it took Nicholas by surprise. Varya smirked as she trailed gentle fingers over her cup, admiring Lev's protectiveness over his sister.

"Oh, he is engaged, do not worry," mocked Ophelia from the side, snorting when Avery clenched his jaw at the sound of her voice, "Not that he takes kindly to it."

"And whoever asked you?" he growled at the pestering witch, chest burning with annoyance when her eyes blinked in sham innocence, and she raised a soft hand to her mouth.

"My, ever so angry," her tone was caustic, and then she shrugged her shoulders in apathy before engaging in a strained conversation with Malfoy.

"She is busy," answered Lev, a knowing twinkle in his eyes as he sensed his sister's distress through their connection. Their powers, light, and darkness, were opposites of one ancient bloodline of wizards, and their children were only ever born in a number of two. Because of the peculiar predicament, the off-springs usually developed mental bonds through the parallelism of their magic.

Varya made no comment on that, only leaned back in her seat as she bit down on her lip in understanding. Indra had had many other women's unfortunate mishap— falling for Felixius Parkin when the boy had only ever cared for Della. She was not sure what to make of the entangled strings of lust that ran through her group, yet one thing was clear. It could not affect their mission, and if anyone started something unnecessary, the witch would have to step in.

"Lev will come," the Obscurial announced, then sat up from her chair, glancing at everyone's empty plates, "And there is no reason to stand around all day, so let us get to it."

She pushed herself away from the table, ignoring Tom Riddle's stare from the other end of the room, knowing he had watched her the whole time as she chatted with those around her, and then waited for Avery to lead their small group towards the dungeons.

They were cold, dismal, and the girl had to repress a tremor as they remained her of the ones she had been locked in at Scholomace. At moments, her skin would heat up as they walked down the corridors, and her mind would play tricks on her, making her believe she was back there.

For months she had been suppressing every bit of trauma that had cracked through the polished facade Varya had created, but it was times like that where the reality of it made it a little hard to breathe, it made it a little challenging to get up in the morning. The witch knew people depended on her, yet sometimes, all she ever wanted to do was hide. Hide from the Alliance, hide from Dalibor, hide from every single person that had hurt her.

"Now," began Avery before he stopped in front of a door, eyeing the new apprentices behind him, "A little back story, so you know exactly what we are dealing with. Finnegan Nagel is one of Grindelwald's most trusted acolytes, so much so that he was in charge of observing Credence Barebone when he was infested with...with Ariana's Obscurus."

Varya's eyes flashed with surprise, and something in her twitched with fright. Not only at Avery's choice of words, but at the fact that she knew who Nagel was. He had been on the front page of most newspapers, always chased by the Ministry for his speeches that riled up wizarding villages.

"How did you even manage to capture him?" breathed Ananke from the sidelines, almost not believing her ears, "Not even the Department has been able to."

Nicholas gave her a sly smirk, "The Department does not have the right mind-set. They have banned their Aurors from using any Unforgivable Curses, whereas we combat with brute strength," then, he turned to the door, fumbling his pockets for the keys, "Besides, we have one thing that they do not have— Icarus Lestrange."

"Icarus?" Varya did not hide her astonishment. She had never seen the boy be anything except gentle, and now that she thought deeply about it, she had not watched him use his full power during combat.

"Ai, Icarus. Now, I know the most you have seen his aggression might have been in bed, Petrov. However, I will have you know that boy is not only an outstanding duelist, but his mind works in devious ways. It is almost like he can get inside anyone's brain and figure out the way they combat, then use it to disarm them."

The Eastern witch sneered at the jab, but had no time to bite back as Avery pushed open the door, revealing a compact room with a shabby bed and a flickering lightbulb. In the corner, a man had been tied to the bed railings, and as he moved through the shadows, his demented face seemed to morph into that of an animal rather than a human. The room reeked of something Varya did not want to think of, and she would have felt pity for the prisoner, had he not immediately tried to launch himself at her.

"Sod off, Nagel," barked Avery before using his knife handle to knock the man back. Then, he turned to Ananke, who was covering her mouth in disgust with a gloved hand, "You go first. Use your power to find out what Grindelwald is planning. At this point, we know he is going to attack Hogwarts, but we need to know when."

The empath glanced at Varya for reassurance, and the Eastern witch nodded before stepping in a corner with Lev, feeling the shadows wrap their bodies in nighttime and protection as their friend approached Nagel. Avery brought in a chair from outside, then placed it in the middle, and hoisted the man off the ground, and forced him to sit.

"Now, Finnegan," he began as he tied the man's hands behind in magic bounds, "You will play nice, yes? As much as I enjoy torture, my mother sent me this shirt all the way from France, and it would be such a pity to have your blood cover it all over."

"Little rat," the man spat back, yet his eyes drifted through the room before settling on the empath with repugnance, "They mix with your sort now, no? Fucking freaks, cannot even do proper magic."

Ananke advanced, her face cold as she looked down on the man, and before anyone could even register her moves, her hand struck his face with absolute wrath. Varya felt Lev stiffen with irritation beside her as well, and she understood their reactions— all of their powers were considered abnormal by the magic community.

Their witchcraft came from various breedings with other enchanting deities or creatures along centuries, bloodlines who wished to keep their ancestry clean with pure magic, yet refused to interbreed amongst cousins and siblings. Varya was still unsure how the Navarro line had acquired their sorcery, yet Indra had once told her that the Myungs had been known to marry different sorts of Fae Folk. There had not been much detail given about that, as Lev had been strict on sharing such information.

Nicholas whistled from the other end of the room, where he was leaning against the stone wall with an amused smirk on his face, "And here I thought you had no verve in you."

The empath paid no attention to his comment. Instead, she lowered herself to the prisoner's level, eyes listless as she spoke slowly, "This can go two ways— either you tell me all you know the easy way, or I gain free reign on your mind. And trust me, I will make it extremely painful just for you."

"Go to Hell," Nagel sneered, and Avery cussed with delight from the back, excited to see Navarro torture him.

Ananke sat up straight, mousse hair falling down her back and topaz eyes glistening with the slightest discomfort before she ungloved her hands slowly, threateningly. Varya could see Nagel's face start to crack, fearing the unknown power that would soon take over his mind, yet nothing would prepare him for the actual magic.

One finger on his temple— that is all it took for him to start spasming in his chair and screaming bloody murder as every neuron in his cranium fired up with utter terror. Terror that had no origin, no source, just pure chemical unbalance as his feet kicked around and his lungs fired up with every puff of wail that slithered past busted lips.

Lev growled lowly under his breath, and Varya turned to face him, a crease between her eyebrows as she took in his obvious discomfort, "What is it?"

He shifted on his feet, "The scream, they are a bit—" his voice cracked, and the girl could see the turmoil in him, the way his chest raced with apprehension, "They remind me of—"

When the shadowmancer could not finish his sentence, Varya placed a hand on his shoulder, "You do not have to be here, Lev. You can always go upstairs and send someone else."

The boy peered at her, his lips turned down, "But I want to be loyal to the cause, and I want to be useful to you."

"You are extremely useful," the witch soothed his concerns, "If it were not for you, I would have never learned how to control my Obscurus. That is something I can never pay you back for, and your loyalty is undoubted. But I understand how trauma can make you uncomfortable in situations like this, so please do step out if needed."

Lev blinked slowly; then, his face fell downwards in shame. He had always been a devoted person, someone who fought with all his might and dedicated himself to their cause to the point of exhaustion because he still felt the need to prove his worth, to prove that regardless of the darkness of his powers, he was righteous.

Trained in the army, having experienced the true horrors of an ongoing war, the shadowmancer was so meticulous and disciplined it seemed surreal. He woke up every day as soon as the sun spilled over the horizon and took a morning walk to clear his thoughts, then practiced his meditation techniques. He despised disorder, often scolding his sister and Varya for their disastrous lifestyles, and protected those around him with all his might. He was diligence.

"Very well," Lev answered shamefully, then stepped out of the shadows and walked past the torture scene, eyes trained ahead as he wiped away the transpiration that had collected in his eyebrows. It was only when he was on the other side of the door that he finally felt he was able to breathe again.

Nagel continued to trash against Ananke's mental hold until she retracted her hand, and his eyes watered with absolute delusion as he glanced up at the young witch, who still had no expression on her face.

"When is Grindelwald attacking?"

"I—I wou-ould never! I would n-never say," the man stuttered, pushing to regain clarity as his breath started falling in regular patterns.

"I can easily break your mind until you babble to me like I am your Lord. This is mercy I am showing you, you get that?" the witch stated in a modulated voice, then glanced at Avery, "Do you still want him intact after?"

"Merlin," scoffed Avery, who had taken to craving a little solider out of a wooden pot he had found on the floor, "Are you not supposed to be some sort of hero? Your cruelty is dripping on the floor."

"Hero?" the girl hoisted an eyebrow, "Kindness and understanding will get you nowhere with people like this, and I would like to save myself the energy. Now, do you want me to get it out of him or not?"

"Let me have a go," blurted Varya, pushing herself off the wall and advancing to the chair where the man had been tied. Her knife glistened as she struck it out against the light, kneeling before Nagel with hatred in her eyes.

Navarro stepped back immediately at her command, then positioned herself by the door as her leader glanced at the prisoner. The Eastern witch discerned he was around forty years old, with dark hair flashing from underneath a hat, and sunken eyes gazing back at her with repulsion. Then, a flicker of recognition.

"Ah," he choked on his own spit, "I have been waiting to meet you, witch. We have all heard much about you— the one who finally tamed the Obscurus, the one who refuses to fight for the greater good. Tell me, how does it feel whoring yourself out for those little dark magic pricks?"

The dagger sliced at his face deeply, blood spattering on the ground as it gushed from the open wound, and Finnegan's throat burned as he screamed in pain. Varya felt her mind swirl with anger, and she dug her nails in his gash, scratching against the open flesh with ferocity as he continued to convulse in his seat.

It was not until Avery grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away that her vision cleared, and she saw the demented man laughing in his seat. He glanced at her with bloodied eyes, jaundice coloring the edges.

"I see that it has done its own game on you, has it not? The anger, the bloodthirst— that is how Credence was right before he lost his fucking mind, ey?" Nagel chortled with bitterness; then, suddenly, his face fell in an emotionless look, "Clueless, clueless petty snake. You have no idea what is coming."

"But I might when I torture it out of you," Varya spat before shoving Nicholas off of her and returning to her previous position. She placed the dagger against the man's neck, face rouge with lividness, "So tell me, what is it that I should fear?"

Nagel leaned forward, his breath reeking of bad hygiene, and he smiled at her with yellow teeth before sneering, "Darkness, little vermin. You should fear the darkness."

The witch felt her insides twist with amusement, and she held his stare as her eyes twinkled with derangement, "I do not fear the darkness."

"And why is that?" the man asked right as the door of the cell swung open, and footsteps sounded as another body placed itself right by Avery, carefully observing the scene.

Varya tilted her head sideways, eyes taking in every inch of the man's face, the way it twitched in anticipation and agony, the way his skin covered in the river of sanguine that trailed his wrinkles, and that is when she saw his gaze flicker to his wrist. So, she took out her knife, and against his struggle, she cut the material to reveal his skin. A look of confusion passed her face before she peered back at Nagel, and only then did the witch answer the question.

"Because it is an irrefutable part of me. It has defined and destroyed me since I was born. And yet I conquered it and bent it to my own will; something that you have failed to achieve," Varya narrowed her eyes. "So, perhaps, it is you who should fear me and what you have bound to my existence—that same darkness you thought would destroy me."

She pushed herself up, glancing around the room until her eyes landed on Tom Riddle, who was watching her with calculative eyes. The ghost of a grin had traced his lips, one infused by madness and malicious pleasure, and her chest puffed as a scoff slipped past her lips.

"There is a symbol on his arm," she announced, then pointed at the sigil she had seen, "It does not belong to Grindelwald, although it is oddly familiar. Breaking his mind will do us no good. Instead, have Elladora prepare a truth serum for tomorrow, and then we will uncover what that mark means."

Every pair of eyes in the room fell on the man's hand, where a symbol none of them were familiar with had been marked— some sort of overlapping of three arcs, almost a triangle but not quite. Tom was the first one to move, coming closer to take a better look at it.

"Oh, is this the one you have been bedding, witch? My, she must have been good if you decided to keep her disastrous magic around—"

No other words came out, for Tom had taken other dagger out of Varya's hands and stuck it right in the right eye of the prisoner, not deep enough to kill him, but harshly enough to eradicate the optical nerve. Then, he twisted it around, letting the shattered eyeball drip from the socket and down his face until it fused in with the blood of the wound on his cheek. The scream echoed through the dungeons, and Nagel continued to wail until his esophagus ripped its inside tissue, making blood decorate his lips, and he choked on it.

Tom grabbed him by the shredded shirt, then pulled him forward, harshly, "Speak like that again, and I will make sure we get as close to breaking you as possible."

Varya glanced at the fury that had covered Riddle's face, the way his jaw had set, and the muscles in his face spasmed with wrath. Veins ran down his neck and drummed against his epidermis as Tom's pulse quickened, and he shoved the man back into the chair before sitting up straight and pulling out another handkerchief, wiping the blood and tissue off of his hands.

"Well," strained Nicholas, eyebrows hoisted at the tension as he scratched his head and gestured to the passed out man, "No interrogating him today, I suppose. We resume the conversation tomorrow, then."

Ananke, who had been watching everything in silence, seemed to agree, and immediately stepped outside of the cell and made her way up the dungeon stairs, hands gloved yet again.

Tom peered over at Varya, who was still gawking at him with conflict erupting in obsidian eyes, "Assemble the meeting," he told Avery briefly. The boy scurried away from the scene, muttering something about not wanting to third wheel.

For a second, both stayed in place as they surveyed each other, trying to assess their thoughts and the mixture of emotions that pulsated through their bond. It was frustrating, to say the least, for Tom to recept her feelings yet not distinguish them, as he had not felt such a spark of his own, and could not understand what it meant.

It was him that moved first, stepping out of the cellar and gesturing for her to do the same, then locking it behind them. Neither spoke until they had started moving across the stone floor, and then Varya broke the silence.

"I can defend myself," her voice was low, almost as if she had not been sure whether to speak up or not. "I do not need you torturing people because they hurl empty insults at me, I know—"

"I did not do it for you," Tom was not sure why he lied so openly, why he could not admit to her that Finnegan's words had riled him up beyond control, "I felt it insulting to me— that he thought I must bed women to have them work with me."

The disappointment that flashed across Varya's face contradicted her earlier words, and she wondered why part of her had wanted him to lash out because of her, "I see."

They both stopped once they had reached the main foyer, glancing at each other with uncertainty before Tom cleared his throat, "I hope to see you at the meeting later. We must discuss our next steps and try to figure out what the mark on Nagel's wrist symbolizes."

With that, he turned around and headed up the stairs to his study, leaving the girl to watch as he moved on the marble balcony. Varya gazed at him until he disappeared beyond the walls and corridors of the Malfoy Manor, and she pursed her lips in discontent at the ache she felt in her heart.

Even so, the witch pushed it down. Once, she had let his words and actions hurt her more than anything else, but now there were other priorities to take care of. She pivoted on her feet and headed down to the training grounds, knowing well that it was time to reunite with Icarus Lestrange.

***

Thank you so much for almost 100k reads on The Seven Devils!

I announced this through my profile a few days ago, but I am considering doing a giveaway of two printed copies of the first volume. Some people told me it was a good idea, although I am still reluctant because it feels like I am giving myself too much credit and assuming people want the book haha. But! If you are interested, I will probably be posting the rules on my TikTok whenever I hit the milestone, because I am not sure how else to send out the information. If I have another chapter ready by then, I will also write everything there, although it is unlikely considering I am currently taking my finals.

If you are from a country that does not have TikTok, I will also post them on my Wattpad profile, but it might get lost in your notifications. Tell me how I can accommodate to your situation, and I will try to send you the information.

Sorry if this is confusing, I just really want to do something to give back for the support, but I am terrible with social media and stuff. Let me know if you have questions!