THE ANATOMY OF SCARLET NORBERG - HUMILITY

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Auburn locks tickled Scarlet's face, and she turned in her bed, the thick sheets dampening her skin from the unbearable heat. She was not used to such lavished bedding, and much preferred the wooden boards and thin mattresses she used to sleep on in the Scandinavian mountains. Her throat was quenched, and it burned aridly as the witch puffed out an irritated breath, laying on her back and staring at the ceiling.

Scarlet pushed herself out of bed, ignoring the way her muscles still ached from her earlier training with the students, having dueled with Icarus yet again. It had been less bloodied, but with each day, the boy was coming into mastering his metallic fingers, wielding his words and weapons with enough precision that her arrows rarely scratched his skin.

She made her way down the stairs, nightgown covering her legs up until her knees, and puffed sleeves making her move awkwardly. The witch was used to plain, modest clothes—there was no need for pompous garments in the woods, where one loose string in a corset was the difference between hunting and starving.

Throughout her whole life, the Blood-Witch had been taught to value modesty and virtue, following the moral compass of her coven throughout everything. And although she was not one to deny the reckless merriment of cheap thrills such as debauchery and delirium, there was a strange purity to her. As such, Scarlet Norberg was the virtue of humility.

The witch stopped by the ending of the stairs, eyeing the empty chamber with apprehension. She pressed her tongue against her cheek, then walked towards one of the windows, eyes trained on her surroundings.

The Gryffindor dorms were incredibly odd for her—draperies of red and golden, stuffed pillows of delicate feathers, portraits and tapestries that hung on the walls and watched her with inquisitive eyes. An enormous fireplace decorated the center of the Common Room, divans framing it, and the ground was covered in a patterned carpet that extended to most of the room.

Still, the tower had an outstanding view of the stars, so she positioned herself on the edge of the tall windows, hand pressed against the cold glass and eyes trained on the sky. There was something peculiar about the nuanced apollos as they scorched the dark cerulean, galaxies of wonders that spiraled through the endless universe, broken pieces of cosmos.

Viridescent eyes fell on the courtyard, where nightfall had pulled a duvet of concealment over fauna, and darkened trees lined the outer limits of the Hogwarts castle. There, the witch saw something—almost translucent skin moving through the trees swiftly, the frame of a human, yet hunched over as bones swelled through the epidermis.

"What the fuck?" she mumbled, and then leaned in further, trying to catch a glimpse of what she believed to be an incredibly ill student. The person seemed to disappear into the blackness of midnight, leaving no trail behind, and Scarlet drew in a sharp breath, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her.

Norberg was in motion almost immediately, only stopping by her room to grab her Red Cloak before she was out in the hallways to investigate. Fur lined the inner edges of her robe, and she pulled on the material, trying to tie it rapidly around her neck before throwing the hood over her head.

The corridors were vacant, and an unvarying odor seemed to transcend through the castle, almost metallic as it curled through the witch's system. She recognized it almost instantaneously, her magic broiling on the tips of her fingers as she began following it, her skin tingling with apprehension—blood.

There was irregularity in silence, almost as if the world had muted with fright, and was anticipating the unrolling of chaos to lay out its most gruesome tactics. The sound of her shoes ticking against the stone ground seemed to reverberate through everything, scratching her cochlea as she paraded down the stairs and to the entrance, reaching out for the door.

Then, almost as if common sense had stuck her, or perhaps a general awareness of danger that she had acquired from years spent hunting beasts in terrible woods, she did not open the grand door. Instead, Scarlet backed away from it slowly, eyeing her surroundings.

The first sign of danger was silence.

The Blood-Witch eyed the path to the Dungeons with uncertainty, then dashed down the stairs, trying to reach the Slytherin Common Room before whatever was lurking in the Hogwarts castle would get to her. With fast hands, she began knocking on every wall, trying to find the hollow sound of an entrance.

Her moves stopped when she heard the door creak behind her.

The bow in her hands materialized almost instantly, and she twisted on her heels, red cloak slashing through the air as she aimed the first arrow at Nicholas Avery and Icarus Lestrange's surprised faces.

"Not even two months, and she tries to kill us," mumbled Avery, hands in the air ironically as they held pumpkin pastries, "Even Varya lasted longer than that."

"Well, hello, love," smirked Icarus, quickly stepping out of the area of her weapon and immediately stopping by her side, "Did not get enough of us dueling today? Understandable, I would be addicted to the absolute reckless adrenaline as well."

"You already are," scoffed Nicholas before pushing past them and shoving the snack in his mouth, but Scarlet stopped him promptly.

"There is something in this castle," her voice was low, serious, and there was no ridicule in her face, "I saw something thread the edges of the forest from the Gryffindor Common Room."

Nicholas continued to munch on his food, boredom lacing his features as he rolled his eyes, then gave a deep sigh.

"Ah, did you? Must have been that half-giant freak, Hagrid. He always runs to those trees during the night, thinks nobody knows about the pet monsters he cares for in the woods. I would not worry about it. He will most likely get expelled for harboring them inside the castle walls anyway," jested Avery, his nose scrunching in distaste and smile crinkling with wickedness.

"That was no man I saw; it was—"

Icarus cleared his throat, "The barrier prevents any creatures from penetrating the castle perimeter, so whatever you saw was probably due to being tired."

But Scarlet did not believe them. Her senses were well heightened over the average person, and she hardly ever made mistakes when it came to tracking and distinguishing between beasts. The Blood-Witch had grown up in a secluded village in the mountains for most of her years, where her coven had been residing for more than two centuries. As such, she was entirely capable of recognizing what she saw in the wild.

"Then, if you believe I am mistaken, you will have no problem in helping me patrol the corridors," she declared before beginning to make her way back up the stairs and towards the ground floor.

For a second, there was nothing, then two sets of steps trailed behind her as Nicholas and Icarus followed the witch, wands and knives out as they marched through the ground floor. The scent of blood was more predominant, so much so that a sadistic grin spread on Avery's face, and he gripped his blade tighter, feeling the leathered handle against his rugged skin.

The corridors were deserted, and what was perhaps most bizarre was the lack of falcon eyes from the portraits, who had also seemed to disappear into nothingness. Blank canvases were scattered all over the walls, dark material staring back from voidness at the three Hogwarts students who exchanged a disturbed look.

"It has to be a creature," mumbled Avery, vaguely sniffing the air to pick up on the sanguine aroma, "But it did not get in here by itself. Someone let it in, then banished the paintings with a spell so that they would not alert the castle."

Scarlet pursed her lips, then right as she turned the corner, she spotted it—a murky trail of hematic liquid that colored the floor crimson, seeping through the cracks and inundating them. Quick footsteps sounded through the passage as the trio approached the scene, and none of them flinched at the intestines that had been splattered on one of the walls, almost as if whatever had attacked had had enough force to completely wreck the body of its victim.

"Shit," cursed Lestrange, and then his eyes followed the trace of blood that led to the girls' lavatory on the second floor.

He exchanged a look with Avery, wondering if it could be Tom's doing. It would not be unexpected for the boy to go back to his old habits of terrorizing muggle-borns inside the castle, although they had all thought him to be way past such beliefs. More so, they doubted the incredibly bright wizard would risk it in such times of crisis, when any beast attack could implicate him terribly.

Still, they decided to follow the track, bodies alert as they pushed the door to the bathroom open. The scent of human liquids was perturbing, a warm and sticky feeling that rushed to violate the witness. It was a fusion between metallic and putrefaction, a sign that the body had been lying there for enough time that the cells had started dying, the tissue immediately falling prey to the elements.

Across the bathroom, the body of a young Ravenclaw girl stood shattered in one of the stalls; her face completely split as muscles had been clawed off. Round glasses were broken on the floor, covered in droplets of sanguine that had already dried. All over the body, missing chunks of flesh exposed the inner system to the surroundings, and skin dangled from the open wounds, stretched and wrecked.

One of the members had been twisted backward, kneecaps fractured from brute force, and the femur of her right leg had broken through the thigh, ivory glowing in the fading light of the bathroom stall. The lightbulb flickered, washed emerald thunder stroke coloring the corpse in nuanced hues.

Scarlet stepped closer, and her shoe squished something spongy underneath. Forest eyes fell on the floor, and they widened as she stumbled backward in horror, trying to get the myocardium off of her soles. On the ground, a half-chewed heart had been thrown against the stone, and visceral fat had melted, effectively having it stick.

Whatever had done this seemed to feast on human flesh, and the notion was sickening to the witch.

"Holy crap," choked out Icarus, taking in a deep breath, "That is Myrtle Warren."

"Well, now that is Ravenclaw mush," snorted Avery, utterly unfazed by the sight of blood.

He stepped over the heart and approached the body, kneeling in front of it as he glanced at the deceased witch, her two ponytails covered in blood. Nicholas picked up her glasses from the floor, twisting them around in his hands before digging one finger in the blood on the walls, his digit chipping at the dried liquid. Then, he grabbed the destroyed leg, pressing against the flesh as if to test it.

"She has been dead for at least two hours," he announced, standing up and heading to the sink. He turned on the tap and scrubbed his hands clean, watching as the clear water turned a dusky color.

"How do you know?" probed Scarlet, her eyes never leaving the cadaver.

"Rigor mortis set in. Her muscles are stiff from decomposition," Avery announced, then pulled his robe to the side, revealing three knives stuck in a leather belt. He pulled out two, twirling them on his fingers swiftly before throwing one through the air and at Icarus.

Lestrange grabbed it from the air elegantly, the blade not even scratching his skin, and he threw it upwards before capturing it in a fighting stance. He shot Scarlet a look, almost telling her to prepare for whatever was crawling around Hogwarts.

It was well past midnight, and if it had not managed to ransack the dorms already, there was only a little time left before it broke through the windows.

The Blood-Witch nodded, conjuring her bow again, and then turned towards Nicholas, "What do we do now?"

"I am going to run ahead and wake up the rest," he commanded, pushing past the two and taking the lead as they followed the assassin, "The two of you should try to find Dumbledore. The professors' sleeping quarters are on the fourth floor. Watch out."

With that, he was out the door and heading towards the Dungeons. Scarlet drew in a sharp breath before setting into motion along with Icarus. They ran up the stairs, grabbing onto the balustrade to speed up their movement, and her hand was cramping from awareness at all times. Indeed, there was little time left to act.

***

Varya felt the fragrance of cotton candy before she even opened her eyes, and it made her stir in her sleep, feeling the way her body was being roused to awaken. Eyelashes fluttered open, and she gawked at Elladora Selwyn, who had a panicked expression stamped on her lovely features.

The Eastern witch shot eyes to her bandaged hands almost immediately, wondering if her blisters had begun breaking again and the cloth had been stained by liquid, but there was no indication of that. The cherry-headed girl had been discharged after spending a week in the Hospital Wing, mostly under the heavy influence of pain killers, and now required changing of her dressings every few hours.

She was unable to use her hand, and as such, usually had someone accompany her everywhere. Thankfully, Elladora was comfortable enough not to feel her pride hurt whenever Varya or Ophelia helped her change, or when Rosier assisted her in all of her classes.

"What is it?" mumbled the Eastern witch, pushing herself up to glance at her roommate.

Across the room, Ophelia had also begun rising slowly, pressing hands against her eyes as she tried to get adjusted to the bright light in their shared chamber. Her hair was pinned back in a braid, and she flicked it over her shoulder before hoisting an eyebrow as she watched Elladora hurry across the room, trying to stuff her feet in her shoes without using her hands.

"There has been an attack," announced the poisoner, kicking at the footwear in frustration, "Avery was banging on the door and is waiting for all of us downstairs. They found a body, and we must search the castle."

Varya was up to her feet almost immediately, pushing her hands through the holes of her robe and stuffing her wand in her pockets. Her silver knife was in the belt Nicholas had given to her two years ago, and she pulled her hair in a ponytail, shooting Ophelia a look, who immediately started preparing as well.

"Elladora, I do not think you should—" began Winterbour, eyeing the way the poisoner could not even hold her wand.

"Do not even try," spat the wine witch before pushing through the door, a determined look on her face as she marched down the stairs.

Elladora resembled a tornado of combustion and capriciousness then, flickering in the flames of the burning wood of the chamber. Even with her hands messed up, she held her shoulders back and chin upwards, eyes in a permanent cunning stare as she raised an eyebrow at where the rest of the Slytherin boys were waiting for them on the couches.

"Is everyone here?" questioned Tom, eyes trailing Varya's movements as she came down the stairs before stopping by Lev's side, who was standing in a rigid stance. The witch sensed that he still carried some resentment for their earlier dispute, and although a few days had passed, the tension seemed to persist.

"Unfortunately," mumbled Nicholas, shoulder bumping Ophelia before beginning to walk towards the hallway.

The mentalist pursed her lips, then a wicked smile spilled over her features, and she moved the carpet in his way, having the boy stumble in it as he attempted to march away from her. Nicholas' leg caught in the material, and he almost fell before catching himself and sending her a sharp glare.

"Watch it," his threat was obvious.

Ophelia hoisted an eyebrow in ridicule, the sashayed past him, braid swinging from side to side as the rest of the group followed the general direction she headed in. Riddle promptly ordered that they split into two groups, and as such, he stood by Varya, Ophelia, and Avery, deciding that they would investigate the first floor.

"What do you think it is?" inquired Tom, gaze falling on the Eastern witch.

She shook her head, frowning, "I mean, it might be—but it makes no sense," her mumble was muffled by the sound of Avery slashing his daggers threateningly under Ophelia's gaze.

"What makes no sense?"

"A drekavac," her whisper was terrible, the sonority of it solemn in the protruding silence of the school, almost as if death had rung its bell of taciturnity across the estate. The image of the terrible beast that had practically ripped Icarus' face to bits on their train journey two years ago was enough to make her shudder, and so she only hoped that she was entirely mistaken.

The first floor carried an eerie atmosphere, and they stood by the staircase, gazing around and trying to spot any clue that might lead them to the location of said monsters.

What concerned her most was that the creature had an insatiable craving for blood, almost similar to a ghoul, except where the latter could be annihilated by fire, drekavacs were demonic creatures that were only defeated by intricate banishing rituals.

The fact that it had managed to break through the barrier was what troubled her, as all beasts of Hell were made to comply with a sorcerer's guarding barricades. So the only way they could have managed to infiltrate the castle was with the help of someone who knew how to disarm specific areas of the shield.

A terrible wail rang throughout the castle, its echo grazing the auditory receptors of the group of Slytherins. The high pitch had them covering their ears to protect their drums from rupturing. Varya gasped as she felt the strike of dark magic, and her knees wobbled slightly as she scrunched her eyes to gaze through the endless stairs.

Across from them, something that had a similar shape to a human body was crawling up the walls, its skin translucent in the luminescence of the moon, and its head hung backward as it flicked from side to side, searching for its next victim. Blood dripped from its enlarged fangs, and three sets of teeth blazed as it dug another claw in the wall, joints twisting in all directions as it bent its legs in an abnormal direction.

Skin stretched so tightly over bones that it resembled a rotting corpse, the drekavac sprung to another pair of stairs, then to another, rapidly making its way down as it set eyes on the group with voracious need. Its empty eye sockets carried absolute derangement, and it screeched rabidly and terrifyingly as it made to claw at the group.

"Run!" yelled Varya, and they all set into motion as shoes clicked against stone, the monster's outcry invading the castle yet again.

Lights began flicking on as professors and students stumbled into the hallways, and Varya cursed the skies before twisting on her feet and sending a black fire spell down the passage right as the drekavac made to grab at a fourth-year from the sidelines. It blasted into the wall, its thin bones snapping to bits before it fell to the ground, yet in a matter of second, it was back again, crawling on the broken members as it made to attack the Eastern witch.

From behind her, Tom raised a protective shield right as another drekavac jumped from one of the chandeliers, almost managing to grasp the witch. With terror, Varya realized that there was more than one creature lurking in the castle. Dangling from the ceiling like venomous spiders, she counted at least four walking corpses that watched her with malevolent intentions.

The students had begun clearing the hallways as the few professors instructed them to run back to their Common Rooms, yells of chaos attracting some of the monsters' attention. Chandeliers swung as they launched to attack, and Renold Rosier barely managed to come out of the third-floor staircase and scare one away from a few third-years.

Varya watched with horror as a drekavac catapulted itself onto their Divination Professor, sinking claws deeply into her neck as a terrifying scream filled the room, then slashed away until it gripped her vocal cords and pulled them out of the larynx. It held them into the light, small muscle bands that dangled from black nails, and then it feasted on them, splitting at the tissue.

Suddenly, it dug ravenous fangs into the exposed trachea, chewing on flesh as the cadaver fell to the ground, and lifeblood spilled from the fourth floor downwards and over Tom's shield, coloring it in cardinal.

"Get away!" yelled Ophelia from the other side of the hallway, where one of the monsters had sprinted towards her and Avery, only for the mentalist to crash down a chandelier on it right as it jumped to attack.

Nicholas pivoted on his feet, then one dagger flew through the air, nailing it right in the head and having it stuck to the ground. The butcherer watched with absolute horror as the drekavac began trashing against his weapon, pulling itself from the hold as its ashen skin broke off, revealing its rotten cerebellum, where larvae had started gnawing at the putrified fat.

The skull broke in two, flesh dividing as the knife sliced away, and the creature freed itself almost immediately before assaulting the boy with brutal rage. Avery screamed as it dug its three sets of teeth down on his hand, then pulled back until tissue stretched and the flesh scraped, exposing the inner part of the palm. The boy bit back another terrorizing wail before gripping the beast's neck and attempting to pull it off, but it only pushed tissue against one of his nerves, causing more pain.

"Get off of him, you wrench!" shouted Ophelia before grabbing the creature by the head and digging her nails into its empty socket eyes, perforating through the tissue until the drekavac let go of the boy and twisted to attack her.

But the witch was faster, and she yelled with irritation before flicking it across the room with her telekinesis, impaling it on one of the armored statues. Right as it tried to move again, Varya broke through, slashing her palm over her old scars before rapidly chanting her ritual, the Latin words blooming from her lips with despair.

The soul eater sigil glistened on the ground as she quickly used her blood to draw it, and her eyes flickered to Riddle, who was doing similar movements to the demon that had murdered the Divination professor. Varya was not sure where he had learned such magic, as it had not been covered in any of their training, yet she had no time to worry about it before the creature began sizzling and screeching.

Then, it blazed into the darkness of Hellfire, slowly crumbling into ash as Varya's sorcery hissed in the air akin to a veil of voidness, chilling and pervasive. White eyes glistened in the moonlight, and her terrible chant only grew even more tumultuous as she turned to gaze at another beast that had jumped from the stairs, the zephyr of satanic magic encompassing its deformed body.

Shadows cascaded over the castle, and nature wailed like a sinister orchestra, a premonition of death and despair. Outside, birds had begun circling the night-sky, their atrocious cawing a funeral march as iniquity fell upon the estate.

The witch flung another demon across the floor, and the tentacles of shadows engulfed it as Lev Myung ran up the stairs, holding onto its limbs to immobilize it as Varya drew another sigil, having it trash against the shadowmancer's sorcery before it burst into flames.

A booming sound clashed through, and they turned eyes to the Great Hall, where the last demon wailed its outcry of sinister notes, turning a deformed face to the entrance, where Tom Riddle stood with an impassive face.

Like thunder, he brought down a cascade of fire. When he advanced towards the creature, candles burst into flames of Hell, and the shadows that caressed the Dark Wizard's face as his smirk of depravation saluted death made him less human and more an entity of obscurations.

With a simple flick of his wrist, he had the beast impaled on the snake statue on one of the walls, and from behind him, Varya stepped forward, blood still clouding her palms as she kneeled to the floor, fingers drawing the soul eater sigil rapidly.

As the last drekavac succumbed to the fire of Hell, the Eastern witch felt the air clear of absolute satanic vibrations, and she watched the flames flicker as the walking corpse turned to ash.

"Marvelous job, witch," hummed Riddle from her side, twisting to gaze at her with darkened eyes. Varya noticed the blood-clustered curls that he has pushed out of his face, and almost wanted to reach out and touch him, feel the dark magic that sizzled on his skin and the way it threaded to hers.

But she subdued her wishes, then pivoted on her feet and walked back into the hallway, eyes falling on the corpse that hung on the stairs, and Nicholas Avery leaned against Icarus' shoulder, blood dripping down from his hand and onto the pavement.

His injury was not life-threatening, yet for an assassin to have his hand damaged was concerning. It was empirical for him to be treated as soon as possible, and fortunately, Della and Ananke propelled through the crowd right then, gazing at the horrifying massacre that had just taken place.

Beauchamp rushed down the stairs, jumping some of them before she slid to Avery and grasped his hurt limb, rapidly chanting every possible spell that she could think of to heal his wound. The hitman bit down on his lip, and pain radiated up his arm as he watched the tissue sew back together. A sensation of itching overwhelmed him, yet he did not move away from the skilled girl, letting her do what she was good at.

When any apparent damage was healed, Della held his hand in the light, then put her thumb in his palm and looked at Nicholas, "Squeeze my finger."

His hand moved, yet the frown was visible on the healer's face, so Avery panicked, "What is it?"

Della pressed her lips together, then told Icarus to place Nicholas against the wall, and got the boy to stand with his back straight against the stone, "Hold your hand out for me and try to keep it steady."

But when Nicholas did so, he was not able to keep it from moving—a terrible tremor engulfed his limb, and no matter how hard he attempted to have it as stable as it had once been, the assassin had lost his dexterity.

A concerned look passed across the group as they watched the way Avery's face blanched, and he immediately grabbed his knife from his belt before trying to fling it across the room at one of the portraits. With absolute demolishment, he watched it miss the target entirely, the accuracy having been compromised by the tremor.

"No," his voice came out choked, and in despair, he grabbed another knife and flung it, missing yet again, "No, no, no—please, anything but this."

Varya had only ever seen Nicholas Avery crack in few specific moments—one of them had been when Nott was attacked and injured, his life hanging by a thin thread and dangling over the eternal abyss. The second time had been when his guilt had had him apologize to her for the harshness of his words.

Otherwise, the butcherer had only ever been an amalgam of mischievous intentions, as if his birth had marked a turnpike in the balance of righteousness in the world. Nicholas Avery was not a man that got scared nor frightened, yet there he was—standing with his skin made of ivory, nostrils flared, and eyes lost in a sea of bewilderment as the flash of realization pulsed against his face.

"What is happening?" questioned a low voice from behind, and they all turned as Malfoy and Nott rammed through, having been held back by one of the teachers and prevented from joining the battle.

Maxwell's eyes enlarged almost immediately, and he pushed into the crowd to get to his best friend, who was now visibly shaking from shock. He grabbed the assassin's hand, staring at the visible scaring with dread. The former archivist's face flashed with something, and the words tumbled out of his mouth almost immediately.

"Trauma to the lower palm, it often results in compression of the median nerve that handles dexterity in hand movement. A high injury often implies never being able to use it again, but low injuries such as this one result in...in—" Maxwell's words stopped, and ache radiated from his eyes as he struggled to recall more, to cling on the infirm thread that had connected in his brain from the hysteria of seeing his closest friend in such a state.

"Carpal tunnel syndrome," finished Della softly, a mixture of emotions on her face, "In simpler terms, Avery lost complete control over his thumb and digit movement, except for his pinky. Numbness, tingling, and tremors are common for such injuries."

Varya felt her stomach curve with apprehension, and she turned to give Riddle a knowing look, as they both understood what it meant—whoever was out for the Knights had struck again, unleashing demons into the school and instructing them to target Nicholas.

Careful eyes scanned the room, trying to make a note of who was there and who was not. Varya was not sure when the beasts had been brought into the castle, or whether the absence of people like Indra Myung or Felixius Parkin was of importance. Still, the anxiety that encompassed her had the witch take a few steps back in shock, uncertainty striking her like hot iron.

Albus Dumbledore walked down the stairs, grey sleepwear and a dazzled expression on his face, and then he met Varya's stare almost immediately, "My office," was all he said before twisting on his heels and walking down the hallway.

Petrov took in a deep breath and followed him, watching as the portraits repopulated from his spells, their irritated voices crowding the hallways as candles flared with light. As Varya marched behind Albus, she took in the way some canvases had been shredded to nothing but aimless paper, how blood colored the archways in hoove marks, or the terrified students that had begun peeking from behind the doors again.

The castle's staff had started dragging the two bodies of the victims away from their places of death, and a white stretcher passed the witch, one pale hand dangling from the edge.

And there was a sense of guilt in her then, which otherwise might have been found unjustified, yet tonight it ransacked her deeply, until her bones hinged painfully and every breath of air felt unfair. Varya knew that she had somehow managed to do this; she was merely unsure why or how, and whether she was still the target.

Because if one of the Virtues was working for Grindelwald, then why were they attacking the Knights instead of her companions? And if this was completely detached from the Dark Wizard, then what was the reason behind it? No matter how hard she tried to stuff the pieces together, it all seemed to fade away into ash and dust.

Dumbledore's office was once a commodity for her, and she wondered why it had become so cold suddenly, as if the castle's warmth had somehow dissipated into nothingness. It was how things had changed, she supposed. Nothing was the same as it had been two years ago, and war had drawn its steel sword onto the rains of control, unleashing treacherous demons onto Hogwarts.

"Take a seat," instructed the Transfiguration teacher, then pulled out a pot from one of the side drawers, having it boiling with a simple spell, "Tea?"

"No, thank you," mumbled the witch, taking a seat on the leathered chairs before the desk and watching Dumbledore pour himself a cup.

He sat down at the table then, eyes somewhat still drained, and for the first time, Varya thought she saw ample strain in his features, those of a man who had been dealt a deceitful stack of cards from divinity.

"There is no point in running around the subject anymore, so I will cut straight to it—the Ministry wants me to leave Hogwarts by the end of the week," he said it so quickly that Varya thought she might have missed it.

"Excuse me?"

"They believe that Grindelwald's attacks will cease if I hand in my resignation, and refuse to go back on their word. Minister Leonard Spencer-Moon has called me in for a trial in a fortnight, and there is little I can do to stop this."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I believe it is time I be honest with you," stated Albus, "Entirely."

Varya did not believe there was such a thing as pure honesty when it came to Albus Dumbledore, and so she found it hard to trust his words, yet the determination in his azure eyes had her listening.

"For two years now, I have directed you to my best capability on how to undermine Grindelwald, and although I have stayed in the shadows for long, I trust you to understand my reasoning for it," he stirred his spoon in his cup, stare aloof, "During my teenage years, I was a fool. I strived for power, and that made me entirely susceptible to Grindelwald's agenda. As such, I came to join his cause. But trust is an empty promise unless something binds it, and so we both came to an agreement—we made a Blood Pact."

The witch hoisted an eyebrow, "What does a Blood Pact imply?"

"It can seal a deal on many things, but ours was that we would never come to harm each other. Unbreakable magic, stronger than a Vow, and the vial of blood has been in his possession for many years. As long as he has it, I cannot act against Grindelwald in any way, and neither can he." There was a pause in his speech, and something terrible flashed across his eyes, "But that does not mean we cannot find other weapons to destroy each other."

With a choked sound, Varya asked, "What weapon?"

"You."

Her heart seemed to halt for a second, and a thought that had been looming in the back of her mind suddenly cascaded, drenching her in freezing truth. It immobilized her limbs, and numbness enveloped her being as her soul crushed itself.

"That is why you brought me here and why you tried to have me slowly unleash my Obscurus," she took in a deep breath, "And the Hallows—they were never for you to use against Grindelwald. They were for me to handle in an attempt to confront Dalibor, to keep him at bay until you can undo the Blood Pact."

Dumbledore did not have the decency to appear reluctant in his decision, "I knew of Dalibor's experiments, and I knew of your existence for quite a few years. Still, I did not believe that Grindelwald would ever become successful in his accomplishments, until I saw one prophecy that seemed to suggest your survival regardless of the Obscurus."

With that, he raised his wand, inching his cauldron closer, and then the memory seemed to inundate the glimmering liquid slowly. Varya saw it all again, and her heart hammered with apprehension, the illustration of Tom Riddle's fall still so painstakingly grotesque. Yet, where the scene had once ended, now there was a continuation—a small figure pushed through a crowd, watching as a masked army marched over the Hogwarts bridge, slowly making their way to the Courtyard.

The Obscurus mark glimmered over the castle, illuminating the reformed building that now resembled a cathedral above all, and where the main entrance had once stood, now there was a pavilion that replicated that of Scholomance.

In front, a hooded figure approached, and the crowd outside the school seemed to cover in a veil of terror as they watched him raise his face to glance at them. Lord Voldemort flashed snake eyes to the students, and then Varya raised her wand at his face, her expression torn into pieces as she bit down on the turmoil inside.

"Missed me, Riddle?"

The memory shattered, and Varya held her breath, body quivering with absolute fear as sinister eyes fell on Dumbledore, who seemed to analyze her reaction, "That cannot be possible," she took in a deep breath, "I am changing him, I am not—"

"It is an old memory, Varya," Albus spoke slowly.

"But do you know if anything has changed, then?"

At her question, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, and in his stare, there was awareness.

"You do," her breath hitched, "But you will not tell me. Why?"

"I have tried to play with fate once, and the consequences were terrible. I do not wish to make the same mistake again."

"What does he do?" her voice was urgent, desperate, and Varya rose from her seat to approach the desk furiously. "Tell me! What does he do?"

Albus did not answer. He gazed at her, and his eyebrows knotted in wonder, the most irritating expression of all—as if he knew everything, and he dissected her behavior and placed the pieces together, unraveling truths she was not aware of.

"You have to understand, Varya, that our cosmos is an interchangeable diety. Many things come into play when dealing with the outcome of life. I once mistakenly believed fate to be easily maneuvered, and I was proven to be wrong. Certain things are set in stone."

"So, there is no hope?" Varya felt at a loss for words.

"Let me finish—fate might not be changeable, but destiny is. And we cannot change the actions of those around us consciously, but we have control over ourselves, so you must ask yourself one question, Varya. Are you becoming a person that would encourage Tom Riddle in his actions?"

The bitterness on her tongue was a pill she could not swallow. Petrov knew what Dumbledore was hinting at, and it made the hair on her arms rise, because she had heard it before. She had heard it from Icarus, who had called her cruel. She had heard it from Nicholas when he had pointed out her selfishness. Most importantly, the witch had felt it herself—the devilish vines that had encompassed her soul, strangling it until what was left behind was a carcass of a once morally ambiguous girl. And what was left behind was terrible above all.

The idea that her own destiny had been entangled with Tom's and that whatever she did ultimately led to the terrible actions of his future was somewhat starling, yet not at all. For so long, they had been completely attached to each other, their souls and minds connecting through an unbearable bond that seemed entirely strange.

"So, what are you implying?" she breathed out, barely managing to look at her professor.

"It is you who decides whether Tom Riddle succeeds in his endeavors or not," Dumbledore gazed at the fire, secrecy in his words, "You are the only thing that now stands between him and success. Tread carefully, Varya, because you might not like what the future has made of you."

Fate revealed its fangs at his words, gazing over the exchange with a knowledgable look, and although at the time the conversation might have appeared to be nothing but banter, the cosmos bowed its head with fear, for it was the first pillar of the chaos that was threading behind Varya Petrov's figure at all times. And even Erebus, the god of darkness, glanced away from the carnage that loomed over the horizon.

***

It is so painful for me to write filler chapters like this because I am trying to get closer to the big revelation of everything and it seems so strained. Anyhow, by now you should have noticed a pattern in presenting the virtues. Five chapters left until the next big checkpoint of this story.

If you are confused do not worry. You are supposed to be because we all know I never make it easy on people to figure out my plot for some reason.

By the way, my Spotify is theshprint and you can find character playlists and story playlists there! Other people have also made playlists for this story, and I think they show up if you look up "the seven devils".