THE ANATOMY OF ALPHARD BLACK - THE BRIDGING MAN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lev bit down on the reddened apple, squeezing it in his hand as obscurations emerged over the edges of his fingertips. His hair flopped over his forehead, as dark as the void he had been born out of, and his eyes flicked to obsidian as he scowled at the tart taste of the fruit.

The shadowmancer moved his gaze over to the courtyard, and he leaned back into the bark of the tree behind him as he watched Maxwell fumble with the bow and arrow, hands struggling to piece the two together.

Thunder rumbled in the heavens as the breeze picked up, having the archivist's hair flutter around and obscure his vision, and he groaned before letting everything fall to the ground, "This is pointless."

The older Myung sibling pulled at his white tunic, ruffled sleeves slightly blotched with greenery as he lifted from the ground, arranging his cuffs. He launched the apple in the air, then caught it with his other hand before strolling to one of the targets he had placed for Nott across the estate. Lev put the apple on a pedestal, then marched over to the boy.

"Give them to me," his order was followed promptly, and Lev picked up the weaponry, holding it so that the boy could see, "First, set the arrow, then the one important thing you must remember is elbow alignment—imagine your horizon to be a horologe, one elbow should be placed precisely at 9 o'clock, the other at 3 o'clock."

He plucked the string, and the arrow hit the half-eaten apple with accuracy, sending it sailing to the ground. Lev's leer was daunting, domineering, and he hoisted an eyebrow at the other boy.

"Your turn."

"This is all pointless," puffed Maxwell, "I will forget your instructions anyway; all you are doing is teasing me at this point."

"That is the wonder of combat training—you need muscle memory, not just any type of cognition. And see, research shows that if you train for at least two to four weeks, you will develop neurological adaptations. Now, less talking and more doing," revealed Lev before taking a step back and observing the boy.

Maxwell pushed his sandy-hair backward, rolling his shoulders to ease the strain in his flesh, and then set the arrow just as the shadowmancer had demonstrated. He elevated the bow, trying to aim for the target, yet his hands were weaving, and when he let go of the arrow, it sprinted to the terrain right in front.

The archivist, who was not used to not succeeding in anything with his first-try, slammed the bow against the ground, letting out a deep-throated unpleasant rumble. Lev's laugh only burned him further, although it had not been mockingly, but only a reaction to his tantrum.

"Pointless," restated Nott, eyes scurrying the estate to look for an escape.

Another thunder drummed the Slovenian Alps, and Maxwell glimpsed around the estate in awe—the Vila was near one of the peaks, which meant that everywhere surrounding it were sceneries worthy of poetical acclamations, with nature ravishingly blooming as summer approached its final day. The mountains encircling them were gleaming with viridescent hues as sunlight swept down on their branches, and crystal azure extended far beyond sight.

Clouds of storm approached from the East, and the sky seemed to turn to granite as the visible texture of rain dominated the far visibility. Traces of lilac slipped from between the cracks, transfiguring the sky as the last rays of dusk fell over them.

Midsummer zephyr pushed through nature, tousling the young gentlemen's locks as they hastened to put the weapons back into the armory, carrying them over their shoulders. The Vila's impressive structure, made of stone and wood, seemed to only rise towards the upcoming rainfall.

Someone opened the window on the second floor, pushing their body into the open and letting the curtains be dragged to hang out of the threshold and flutter in the air. Elladora Selwyn's cherry hair seemed to be a tornado of fire as she leaned over to catch sight of the boys.

"Hurry up! Everyone just came back!" she shouted, her voice slightly muffled by the sound of leaves wooshing as branches swung around.

Lev sped up at that, opening the door to the armory and stuffing everything back into its place before picking up a white cloth from one of the drawers and wiping his hands clean. He tossed it to Maxwell, who grimaced and then did much the same as he watched Myung arrange every weapon to stay up straight and in its place. A frown settled on his face, but he made no comment on the habit.

"I thought your training today was better," commented the older wizard, "I think giving up would be a mistake."

"Avery said—"

"Screw what Avery said," mumbled Lev, "He is entirely caught in his own guilt to understand that you need physical activity as part of your recovery. Tell me, what has staring at puzzles for hours done for you so far?"

"Nothing, but—"

"Precisely," Lev cut him off again, knowing he had heard his doubts enough, "Besides, not knowing how to fight is what got you in that place, to begin with. I am sorry to tell you this, Nott, but you must learn to rely on other things for your survival now that your mind is not your greatest treasure."

Maxwell frowned deeper, forest eyes lacquering with skepticism at the shadowmancer's words, which were so opposed to those of Nicholas. His childhood friend had considered his training to be a waste of time, for Nott was a boy of valuable intellect, and the less time he spent on recovering it, the harder it would get. The frustration that plagued the young one's mind was effervescent, he felt at odds with himself, as if he were gripping the edge of his sanity with quivering hands, and each week was another finger that fell from it.

However, Lev had insisted that to train the body was to train the mind, so he had accosted Maxwell to join his daily practices. Nott found it peculiar, as if there was some piece of the puzzle that was missing, a limit of zero over zero, yet his mid betrayed him endlessly and left him in profound darkness. He hated it.

"I fail to see why you are so invested in my recovery," muttered Nott as they pushed into the hallway, door slamming behind. They wiped their boots on a towel that Elladora had placed on the floor after she had gotten tired of mud stains around the house.

Lev walked ahead, his lips pressed to prevent a roguish smirk from raising to his face, and his mind surged devilishly as the veins underneath his eyes eclipsed, the shadows of his soul pulsing in his bloodstream.

He had not gotten anything out of the boy yet, but that was to be expected. Over the past four days of Varya, Scarlet, and his sister being gone, Lev had understood that Maxwell was a very recalcitrant boy who rarely listened to anyone, as he had always thought his own opinions and decisions to be superior due to his high intellect. With his mind mushed, it had died down a bit, but he still had reluctance outlined on his features half of the time.

That was all good; Myung could be patient if it meant uncovering the truth behind what was going on with the devils. He had taken notice of Della's oddity more after Ananke had pointed it out—how her face was usually covered by sienna locks, showcasing discomfort, or how her eyes flickered with uncertainty whenever Felix would discuss anything with her. The two had not even begun dating, too caught up in their own insecurities, yet the tension was apparent.

"Was it not Riddle that talked about all of us uniting or something like that?" Lev tried not to sound bitter, but he could not help himself. He did not like the Slytherin boy, and there were multiple reasons for that.

First, he had heard all of Varya's experiences with the lad, how he had manipulated and taken advantage of her endlessly, using her until he tore her. Lev deemed the witch deserved more and could not understand why her heart still clung to his regardless of the mistreatment. Perhaps, it was that she believed they merited each other for all they had done, or that they understood their anger and agony. The shadowmancer did not know how much truth there was to that.

Both Lev and Maxwell entered the main Foyer, noticing the commotion at the front door as multiple people fussed over those who had just arrived. Lestrange was holding his hand up, metal fingers glinting in the sparkle of the chandelier as Elladora screamed at him and continued to hit the boy with her scarf, not even registering the pleased grin.

"There was a dragon!" beamed Scarlet as she walked to Ananke, chatting about their adventure with fascination in her eyes.

Della had dashed to welcome Varya, hands extended and smile on her face, and that is when Lev noticed her eyes flickering to Riddle, who seemed to carry a certain tautness in him, almost as if telling the witch not to approach the Obscurial. Beauchamp stopped in her steps, then simply stepped to the side, barely managing to hold her grin alive as Felix ran down and enveloped Varya in a tight hug.

"You must inform us of everything promptly," said the boy, dragging the witch upstairs.

Then, Riddle sent Malfoy a look, who was waiting at the top of the stairs, and the platinum-haired boy nodded before coming down and following his leader into a separate room. Lev heard the lock turn, and he moved closer to the door to listen to them, but the faint buzz of a silencing spell was apparent.

Ananke strode over to him, eyes harsh, "You noticed that too, then?" she mumbled as everyone was focused on the new arrivals.

Lev nodded, "You convinced me that they are hiding something from us, from Varya especially. I will be damned if I let them get away with it."

The Hispanic witch pursed her lips, sensing his determination and infuriation, "Well, then you better keep an annoyingly close watch on them when we get to Hogwarts."

The shadowmancer smirked—he was going to do precisely that.

***

Varya picked at the threads of her clothes absentmindedly, eyes flickering between the window and the surroundings of her train compartment. She heard Indra's giggling in the hallway, and peeped over to see her twirling around in the colorless uniform, pulling the skirt upwards and twisting the hem in. By her side, Scarlet was fighting with the dress itself, complaining about the unflattering shape, and turning to see her reflection in the glass window.

"Are you all right?" inquired Felix, and the witch shifted to him.

It was odd seeing him wearing such ravishing clothes—a white dress shirt, paired with pants tight around the waist and a suit jacket to match. His hair, which he habitually kept untidy, had been combed and styled. Varya was unsure why he bothered; she doubted that Newt Scamander would have them pull out the red carpet for him, much less his apprentice.

"Yes," she muttered, although her voice sounded off, "I just feel—"

Suffocated—as if the sheer idea of being in the Hogwarts Express had her skin flare with allergies, reddening it until there was an itch she could not quite scratch, until her lungs spasmed and her throat constricted. Varya had never had a problem being in closed spaces, yet the compartment seemed so tiny now, and although she had opened the window, she felt the static air, the dust settling on every spot of the leather couches.

"You will be fine," encouraged Felix, leaning forward to grab her hand reassuringly, "We have been through this before, and you returning there will not make you weak again no matter what you think. If anything, you are coming back stronger and more determined to have this all end."

"That is the problem," she answered eventually, "Going back to Hogwarts only makes me realize that the end of it all is nearing, and the outcome terrifies me."

"I will be there through every step of it, Varya. You are not alone in facing darkness anymore; we will not let anyone hurt you. I promised this to you then, and I only renew my vows now—when everything is done, when all has passed, we will all be there for each other."

There was some assurance in that, and the witch gave her friend a soft smile, squeezing his hand before placing her arms around his torso and pulling him in a hug. She nuzzled her face in his shoulder, and felt him vibrate with laughter before Varya let him go.

"Now, go change in your uniform," Felix said, "Return to being a vicious serpent or whatever it is you backstabbers pride yourself with."

Varya scoffed, then rolled her eyes, "You might not wear Ravenclaw blue anymore, but you sure still have that characteristic judgment in you, do you not?"

"Sod off, Petrov."

The witch picked up a bag she had placed on the floor, pulling out her former clothes. They still fit, for the Horcrux had had her body freeze in time. With that thought, she stuffed her hand further in the bag, fingers grasping on a familiar string and pulling it out. Her eyes glimmered as she glanced at the skull and the snake, and she stuffed it in her pocket before leaving to change in the toilets.

"Oh, marvelous color!" beamed Indra when she saw the bit of green poke out from the uniform, "Perhaps, I shall wear it too."

Scarlet sniggered from the side, "I sincerely doubt that."

Varya rolled her eyes and shouldered past the two witches, entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She pulled the sweater she was wearing over her head, then took off her pants, and changed into the uniform. It was rough on her skin, yet pleasing all the same—she glanced in the mirror, her breath hitching as the slytherian green gleamed through threads, and the emblem of a snake nested near her chest.

She blinked for a few seconds, quivering hands tracing the pattern, and bile almost rose to her throat at the way she looked. Just as she had on her last day, when she had thought Hogwarts to be a thing of the past. Yet, there she was, wearing her uniform and preparing to arrive at the school of magic.

Her mind drifted to the last thing she had seen when she had left—seven figures standing on a balcony, crowns of wickedness nested in zephyr tousled locks, with eyes as ingenious as the Devil, and faces as sculpted as angelic statues. A collection of Hell-crafted vices and faults in their souls, they had watched her leave without much a thought, perhaps knowing that fate would have brought them together. And amongst all, a letter in her hand.

But you were absolutely right when you told me I needed you.

The necklace was heavy in her hand, and she turned it on all sides, a stinging pain in her chest as Varya thought back on what had been of her and Tom so long ago. He was callous, manipulative, and the only thing he cared for was to bring darkness and have it encompass the world, until it bowed to him as if he were a god.

I choose you, Petrov.

A bitter chuckle left her lips—how delightful it would have been to believe those words wholeheartedly, yet they felt weightless on her heart, almost as if his truth was worth just as much as a lie. And Riddle might have changed in certain aspects, opening himself to the possibility of letting go of his Horcruxes and no longer using her as a weapon, but he was still a monster.

Still, the witch clasped the necklace around her neck for the first time in months, and she felt as if it scorched the resting space between her collarbones, yet when Varya checked, there was no trace. Eyes flickered back to the mirror—her dark mark around her neck, the snake on her uniform, and green coloring her clothes.

With a mischievous smile, she pushed out, and right as she was about to turn and head back to her compartment, she saw Tom Riddle come out of the men's bathroom, dusting his uniform and driving a hand through his curls. Something glistened on his robes, and Varya squinted to see it better—the badge of a Head-Boy.

"Della is already running around; what is with this uncharacteristically tardiness?" the witch jested, taking in the boy's astonished appearance.

Tom gazed at her with an unreadable expression on his face, taking in the mundanity of her attire, the way the uniform fell around her shoulders. Then, his eyes fell on her neck, and a contented smirk nested on his lips, something blooming in his chest as he regarded her ensemble.

Tom did not know that one could miss the way a color looked on a certain person.

"I was reading, if you must know," the boy commented, then frowned as a few second years pushed past them, running down the hallway, unaware that the new Head-Boy was watching them.

The way his demeanor changed was almost humorous, posture straightening and eyes sliting with prestige. Tom clasped his hands behind his back, and there was tautness in his face as he turned to watch the children.

"I will be back," is the last thing he said before he speed-walked down the corridor, undoubtedly to scold those who were disobeying and boast his newly acquired privilege and position.

Varya snorted—she had forgotten how Tom Riddle looked in an academic setting, when he was not covered in the blood of those he scorned and opposed. He appeared nothing more than an ordinary over-achiever, who perpetually had a book by his side while everyone rustled about his brilliance. To be around such blind-sighted people again would undoubtedly pester the witch.

Right as she stepped back into the compartment, Varya felt the train jolt forcefully, and panicked eyes dashed around until they focused on Della, who appeared not to be troubled by anything. The Beauchamp witch smiled at her friend, then pointed to the windows.

"We are about to pass the protection shield; you all might want to see this."

As such, Felix, Varya, and Scarlet pushed against the window, taking in the scenery—the woods that they passed were endless, grounds covered in moss that grew up the stems and mushed against it. Birds clustered in the sky, wings flared as they floated from one side of the train to another, and the craw of an eagle fought against the sound of the train wheels churning.

Then, right as the patch of forest ended, came the horror—pounding on what appeared to be an invisible shield were, perhaps, hundreds of creatures of the night, looking for a breakage to slip through and attack the castle. Their screeches resounded piercingly amongst the hum of nature, a choir of darkness and heresy. Varya held her breath as she surveyed the assembly of strzygas mavkas, poroniecs; some they had encountered, some they had not.

As soon as they apprehended the noise of the train, they turned crazed eyes to it, and then a battalion of beasts started hurling towards the railroad. Students streamed from all of the wagons, and Varya gripped her wand in anticipation, yet another shield protected the path of the moving coach.

A relieved breath slipped past her lips, and then the train rocked again as they passed the barrier, having Scarlet topple over to the ground with a small shriek. Felix sniggered at her misfortune, then pressed cold fingers against the glass to glance at the creatures again.

"This is insane," he breathed, "To think that all it would take for that to rain on Hogwarts would be for a crack in the shield."

Scarlet scrambled to pick herself off of the floor, then dusted her skirt with irritation, "I am getting quite tired of these sick fucks," she muttered. Varya scoffed in agreement.

Half an hour later, the train was pulling into the station, and the Eastern witch almost felt as if her feet had been glued to the floor of the section. Scarlet had to grasp her hand and drag her out, for she felt unable to move due to trepidation.

Another pound at her psyche was when she passed onto the castle's grounds again, and carriages were waiting to pick them up; Thestrals strapped fastly in front. The Blood-Witch's excited laughter was a ring on Petrov's ears as she felt herself being pulled again towards the buggy, where the other virtues were waiting for them.

"So majestic," mumbled Norberg before she stepped in front of the horse-looking beast, "Creature-nerd, fast—what is it?"

Felix paused from where he was polishing his shoes, then glanced up at the witch and started sprouting information as if he had taken Nott's occupation. His dark eyes glistened with pride as he conversed about his hobby, pointing out the odd texture of the skin and the sunken flesh.

Varya stepped into the carriage, accepting Lev's extended hand before scooting next to him, and the boy gave her a careful simper before settling in a comfortable conversation with his sister. She was radiating with euphoria at what was to come. The buggy started moving against the rocky pathway, and it rattled the virtues as they scrutinized their surroundings with ravenous eyes.

Even the shadowmancer, who would have commonly been impassive to most sceneries, gasped as the magnificent castle peaked over the edges, with sumptuous towers squabbling with the darkened sky as illuminated windows glistened pridefully. Turrets scraped against the blackened clouds, and birds soared around them before diving deep and getting lost between the numerous bridges and archways.

The cliff that it stood on overlooked the Great Lake, a vast water mass that resembled a vicious sea more than a tranquil lagoon, for magic sursurrated through the aquatic, and creatures of the deep-ends went like lightning through the rocky bottom, then swept in the air, sending droplets of marine around them. Boats of first-years pushed through the misty night, small lanterns illuminating the fog and making it appear mystic.

"I have never seen a building as beautiful as this," breathed Lev, turning cloudy eyes to Varya, and the witch analyzed the way sincerity sizzled on the top, his hair ruffled by the night-breeze as he stood against the Hogwarts scenery in his uniform. The hinges of her heart rattled.

The witch averted her gaze back to the castle, ignoring the bubbling dread that shimmered like a pot of scalding water, and chose to settle her eyes on another carriage, where seven figures pushed each other with excitement, their laughter attracting the stares of those around them.

Tom stood in one of the corners; eyebrows knotted as he flipped pages of a volume he held in his hands, utterly unaware of how Rosier was standing on his feet on the seats, waving over to the virtues. The boy put hands around his mouth, then yelled over to them.

"Ready to get sorted?" he screamed, curls bouncing as he somewhat lost balance when their buggy hit a rock.

"Sit down, bloody hell," screeched Elladora, grasping his robes and pulling him down before he could injure himself by being reckless.

The commotion had attracted many unwanted eyes, however, and whispers crawled through the dusk air like spiders on silky webs, scrutinizing the new arrivals. Some recognized Varya, and they pulled against the materials of their friends, pointing judgmental fingers her way. The witch bit back a sardonic smirk, wondering if they still wished her dead as they had done during her Sorting, for they would have certainly been in a terrible situation without her.

The carriage stopped, and they all stepped down in front of the entrance. Della instructed the newcomers to follow her towards the trail of First-Years, sending Varya an apologetic look when Felix had to dash away to meet Newt before the banquet started.

Standing alone in the courtyard, Varya glanced up towards the castle, taking in its grandeur before suppressing a shudder. Her gaze descended on the Astronomy Tower, and part of her mind wondered what Ivy had felt when she had fallen. The witch's face tightened with fury, revenge bitter on her tongue.

"Varya?"

She twisted around, eyebrows raising in surprise as she took in a familiar face. Alphard Black stood before her, face distorted between bewilderment and uncertainty, and Varya bit back a gasp of wonder—the boy had grown into his nose, his face now sculpted and his body svelte.

"Alphard! Hi, I have not seen you since—" her words clogged her throat.

A cynical smile graced his features, "Since the funeral," he mumbled, redness of shame taking over his face. The last time they had interacted, he had broken up with Ivy over an odd fascination with Elladora Selwyn. Varya still suspected the use of a love potion sometimes, "How have you been?"

They fell into the same pattern of steps together, pushing through the corridors and ignoring the whispers as they headed to the Great Hall, "I was well, dealing with stuff throughout the year, and then I suppose Dumbledore wanted me back."

"I saw," hummed the boy, "The Daily Prophet documented most of the attacks, especially the recent one in Godric's Hollow. The Potter house was overrun with Grindelwald's fanatics, but the family managed to escape through a secret trap. When they returned, the whole estate had been turned over."

Varya nodded at the information, not wanting to comment much on it. She had been staying away from the press, not wanting to see the Ministry bribe newspapers to defame her name only to refrain the public from panicking.

"How have you been dealing?" inquired the witch, knowing that despite the break-up, Alphard had been affected by Ivy's death more than anyone.

The boy's face darkened then, and it was different than she remembered him—there was oddity in his character, as if a demon had whispered in his ear quietly, and the wrath that pulsated through azure eyes was awe-inducing.

"I blame myself," he bit harshly, "She would have never been wandering around those corridors alone if I had been with her, but I was foolish to let her go. Ivy wanted a future, she wanted to get married after graduation, and that terrified me. So, I ended things, and then I turned my eyes to someone else. We all know how that went."

Varya frowned, "She wanted marriage?"

"She had big plans for her future—become Captain of the Quidditch team, which, if you do not know, is a position that went to Malfoy. Then, earn the Head-Girl badge, which went to Della. And yes, get married; train as an Auror or a Quidditch player, she had enough verve in her for both. I suppose they took it all away."

The grief in his voice was raw, that of a boy that had been too terrified to mature, and had lost everything due to childishness. Alphard cleared his throat, then shook his head, grasping at straws of sanity and pulling on them until he appeared whole.

He pushed the entrance to the Great Hall open, and Varya almost froze on the spot, but a fourth-year pushed her through impatiently then cowered when she snarled at him. The ceiling was just as she remembered, and ample illusion of the night sky, with apollos scattered in the blackness of the universe, swirling and pulsating.

She marched to the Slytherin table, catching sight of the Knights towards the end, and she invited Alphard to sit down next to her, out of pity or shame, she was not sure. To her surprise, Black recognized Ophelia almost promptly, and sat down next to the future Lady, immediately engaging in small chatter over their vacations.

The royal witch pushed his head down and glanced at Varya, "You must be excited."

Varya poured herself a cup of tea, ignoring the way Nicholas sniggered at the memory, and raised a finger towards him before turning to Ophelia, "Why would I be?"

"Seeing your friends sorted! I have placed bets with Rosier on who goes where, and we all have our own theories, but it ought to be exciting, do you not think so?" she fanned, eyes glimmering before she turned to face the crowd.

"Not all are interested in slithering in everyone's lives the way you are, Winterbour," hissed Avery, irritation sparking on his features at her presence.

Ophelia shot him a tired look, "That is because not everyone concedes how much power there is in understanding how those around you function."

Varya's eyes slashed to Tom, who had once told her that the ladder to conquering the human mind was understanding its psychology, and she wondered if Ophelia's mentality was what had made him choose her to be on his side.

As far as the Eastern witch could tell, the Winterbour heir was a lady who dabbled with court manners, understanding how gossip and secrets shaped society, and collecting them in a jar for further usage. She always stuck her nose in people's business, inquiring about odd things, such as preferred colors or astrology signs, as if it were a clue to understanding what made them tick.

Then again, Ophelia also had a way of talking to people as if they had been friends their whole lives, getting them to let their guard down and lash their tongue until secrets dripped like sweet honey from reddened lips. She was a girl that spun her spindle just as she did to those around her, deceiving and slithering through cracks of ambiguity until she was close enough to your core. Then, akin to the serpent that decorated her uniform, she sunk poisonous fangs into whatever she had discovered to be your weakness.

"Myung, Indra," called out Albus Dumbledore, eyes glimmering as he watched the lumomancer push through the crowd of first years.

Shallow gasps were heard around the room as Indra arrived at the front, snow-like locks falling over her shoulders and framing high cheeks, and her luminous grin sent sparkles in the hearts of those around her. Her feet tapped against the floor impatiently once she sat down, and delighted eyes drifted to the ceiling, taking in the marvelous stars and the way they seemed to bow to her power.

The witch waited patiently for the Sorting Hat to be placed on her head, and let out a small gasp when she heard its voice drilled in her mind.

"Ah! What a peculiar finding in Hogwarts' territory. It has been long since I have seen ancestry such as yours, a child that draws her powers from light and stardust, bending it to her will," the Hat spoke rapidly, "Your mind is sharp, you piece things together by analyzing those around you, and there are creativity and discipline embedded into your soul. You also have a deep sense of loyalty, a fusion between playfulness and hard-work. Very well."

Varya let her eyes skim around the room, taking in the way everyone seemed to watch the witch with fascination, as if she were a rarity amongst commoners. She also found it incredibly entertaining how Rosier was extremely attentive, fingers tapping against his glass as he focused his eyes on Indra.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The yellow and black table erupted in cheers, and Renold groaned as he sunk back into his seat. Elladora smirked by his side, then turned to face him as Indra jogged to her designed table, already exchanging pleasantries with her classmates.

"Was it not you that would always say that Hufflepuffs do not have the right mindset to join Slughorn's club before?" questioned the cardinal witch, "Only fitting that you fall for one."

Ren shot her a horrified look, "I did not fall for anyone!"

"So why are you so disappointed that she is in another house?"

"I—," the boy spluttered, trying to find his words, then pointed at Ophelia, "I placed a bet with Winterbour over her being a Gryffindor!"

Ophelia turned to look at him, then shot him a confused look, "No, you did not."

Rosier turned scarlet as he hid his face between heavy palms, groaning at the way Icarus had started teasing him as he was throwing olives at his curls, having them stick in his locks. On his other side, Nicholas was poking his stomach, having him twist in his seat as he tried to escape the boys.

"Myung, Lev," was the next call, and Varya focused her attention back on the boy.

As he passed the tables of students, girls and boys alike turned to gape at him. Standing at an impressive height, the shadowmancer marched over to the chair, his dark hair falling over his knotted eyebrows as he ignored the attention, solely focused on the task at hand. He sat down, waiting for the Hat to be placed on his head.

"Well, siblings, correct? Fascinating, especially with the opposition of powers, for you are crafted from the pure darkness of the universe. But there are similarities—your loyalty to those you care for, the way you have always been as diligent as a bumbling bee," it talked, analyzing the boy's mind, "But you are also cunning, you would do anything to achieve your goals, even if it means stepping on those around you. There is a sense of fraternity in you, but it is based on familiarity more than anything. You would do well in Hufflepuff or Slytherin, so let me ask you this—which would you rather have?"

Lev stiffened at the question, eyes darting between the two tables. At one of them sat his beloved sister, the one he would have done anything to protect, and Indra glanced at him with hopeful eyes, awaiting his arrival. They had never been separated for long, always depending on each other and working as a team.

At the other table, however, was Varya Petrov, a girl the shadowmancer had learned to care for in a different way, and who he felt indebted to due to Theseus' bargaining their freedom for their loyalty. Similarly, there was also Maxwell Nott, someone who Lev had vowed to earn the trust of so that they could uncover the Knight's secrets.

The conflict was apparent, a decision between familiarity and duty, and he supposed that had always been a profound conflict of his being. Lev drew in a sharp breath, then settled his eyes on the floor and told the Hat his decision through their mental bond.

"I see," it spoke, "Very well...SLYTHERIN!"

Varya felt her cheeks sting from her bright smile, and she reached a hand out to the cold boy, who raised an eyebrow at her invitation. Lev sat down next to the witch, ignoring his sister's disappointed eyes on his back and Tom Riddle's daggers upfront.

"Navarro, Ananke," was the next name to be called, and the empath rose from her seat carefully, eyes dissecting her surroundings and making the crowd part for her in a hush. She sashayed to the front, uniform pressed neatly before she took a seat on the chair and crossed her legs.

Varya watched her from afar, admiring her soft features that seemed to carry such attractiveness, yet were made of harsh stone all the same. Although not as familiar to her as Scarlet or Indra, Ananke was a person worthy of deep admiration, for she had taken the role of a guardian over the rest of them, perpetually putting her own needs in the back only to assure the well-being of the group.

"Bright, bright witch, a fusion between wisdom and ambition, but there is something that clearly distinguishes you from those who wear green," chimed the Hat cheerfully, "You seek out the goals of the community and not your own, and for that alone, I shall put you in..."

Ananke waited for the decree, glancing around somewhat nervously as she felt the stares of the crowd, and she pulled on the edge of her skirt, despising how it came down before her knees.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Applauses resonated from the near table, and Varya watched her friend smile as she headed to where Della Beauchamp was sitting. Yet, her eyes carried some unspoken motivation in them that always seemed to spark for the young witch.

Finally, the last name rang through the Great Hall, "Norberg, Scarlet."

Red flashed through the Hall as the Blood-Witch carried herself through the room, and the daunting smirk on her face relished the way gazes turn to analyze her figure, especially the red cuffs she had already placed on her hands, refusing to abandon the color of her coven. With a delicate twist, she sat down on the chair, glancing up towards Dumbledore was approaching with the Sorting Hat.

It did not even touch her hair before it thundered through the room, "GRYFFINDOR!"

A small gasp was heard from somewhere behind Varya, and the witch turned to see Icarus' flabbergasted face. She gave him a bewildered look, and opened her mouth to say something, but Rosier was faster.

"And I was the ridiculous one to believe Indra would be in another house? The Blood-Witch might as well be Gryffindor's daughter," he mumbled.

Lev twisted almost immediately, "Why were you thinking of my sister?"

His narrowed eyes had Ren freeze, and he appeared wholly terrified as he struggled to come up with an excuse before Ophelia spoke up, "We made bets on where everyone was going."

The shadowmancer still had tension in his features, but gave a curt nod before going back to engaging in small talk with Maxwell, who seemed oddly irritated by the boy. Ophelia shot Rosier a wink, and he sent her a kiss with his hands for saving him.

Then, Elladora raised a finger in the air, "Icarus, why are you even interested in Norberg's house?"

Varya flashed with panic, and she shot her roommate a glance of warning, something that would let her know not to poison Scarlet for Lestrange's daftness, but Selwyn promptly ignored it as she sneered at the boy's whimsical smile.

"Because I want to bed her, Selwyn. And it is terribly difficult for a Slytherin to sneak into the Gryffindor room without having his dick cut off," he mused, earning loud laughter from Avery, who patted him on the back in approval.

Elladora gasped, "Why, you repulsive swine! Can you not try to bed every girl that crosses your path?"

"That is not true! I did not bed you," he argued, and when Rosier drew in a sharp breath and had to place his forehead against the table to prevent himself from cackling like a madman, he shot his friend a confused glance, "What is it?"

The cherry-witch had returned to scowling at the turkey in front of her as Icarus tried to gain her attention, sheer confusion lacing beautiful features and fright swimming in honeyed eyes. Rosier's body was shaking against the wooden surface, whereas Nicholas was in hysterics. Varya could swear even Abraxas Malfoy was cracking a smile at the obliviousness of it all.

The feast continued as it normally would, and Varya found it easy to fall into a familiar pattern as cutlery clashed against half-empty plates, the chatter of the Great Hall a faint hum that titillated her shattered soul, and like a soft remedy, it put the pieces back together with mundanity. Ghosts sauntered around the room, greeting new students and old-ones alike, and golden cups of punch clinked as the students of Hogwarts dialogued about their summers.

After the last few dishes disappeared, Varya felt someone tugging at her sleeve, and she twisted to see Indra stare down at her with hopeful eyes, "Lev, Varya, follow me! We ought to take a picture, all seven of us!"

With that, she pulled them to their feet, dashing through multiple people as she waved over the boy that had been walking around with a camera all night, snapping photos of the festivities and documenting them through his skill.

"Sir, would you mind?" Indra inquired pleasantly, batting eyelashes at the flustered boy before arranging everyone in their positions.

Varya stood between Felix and Scarlet, her smile somewhat awkward as a bright light flashed in her eyes, and the sound of powder invaded the room. The seven of them stood in two lines, and the cameraman handed over the photo quickly, letting the Eastern witch take it between frail hands.

"Wait, we want one as well!" cheered a voice, and they all turned to see Rosier as he dragged over the Knights, who had various degrees of irritation plastered over their faces.

"I hate this," mumbled Tom, and Varya shot him a look that made the wizard roll his eyes before stepping in line with his acolytes.

The Slavic girl stood to the side as the camera flared again for the seven devils, capturing their exasperation with Ren and stiffness, almost as if elite wizards such as them had never had snaps taken of them during their fetes. Then, Ophelia pulled Alphard to take a photo by themselves, and she wrapped her scarf around her neck before leaning into the tall boy, who appeared somewhat perplexed.

Indra squealed as she collected the photos, and Scarlet and Ananke glanced over her shoulder to peep at them with soft smiles on their faces. The lumomancer raised them in the air for everyone to see, and then she spoke with dulcet tones.

"To new beginnings and whatever the future may bring!"

***

Question—what are your three favorite characters of the series?

Also, we have finally returned to Hogwarts! Initially, it was supposed to be the next chapter, but I got impatient so here we are. I felt like everyone needed a fluffier (?) chapter after the last three being so intense. Have a wonderful day!