the seven devils [completed]

chapter twenty-six

Terrifying, she thought, but enchanting.

Now, she understood why so many wizards fell prey to their temptation, and although she had cast many dark spells along her life, there was something so gruesome and shattering about murdering a creature with the killing spell that felt almost empowering.

And yet, the girl could not help but be troubled with herself. At Scholomace, they had always been taught how to communicate and appreciate animals, perhaps, even more so than humans, and yet four months around Tom Riddle had made her forget everything.

She did not understand what was happening to her mind, to her magic, it felt as if she was constantly switching between good and bad, almost as if there were two parts inside of her at conflict. Truly, Varya had never felt more lost, and she did not like what she was becoming while at Hogwarts.

And she had no control over it, was the thing. It was almost as if whenever she was around Tom, he completely took charge of her soul, and had it do its bidding. It was toxic, and yet she could not step away from it.

There was a rap on the door of her compartment, and Varya shifted swiftly to meet the profile of Icarus Lestrange, who was beaming at her as brightly as ever. She opened the door and let him pass the threshold. His bags were trailing behind him, enchanted as always, as no Sacred Twenty-Eight heir would do something as mundane as carrying his own trunks. They flew above their heads, settling in their desired places.

"What a splendid surprise," he mused, as he sat down on one of the seats across from her, "just the person I was so eager to see. Would it be ridiculous to say that your absence left my soul a little shriveled?"

His joke passed right by Varya, who continued to stare at the boy with a passive face, "Yes, it would be incredibly ridiculous considering you have been avoiding me."

Icarus smirked, then clicked his tongue against the roof, "I have not been avoiding you, my dear, but there are times when a certain friend of mine likes to assign me ludicrous tasks, and the timing always seems to be unfortunate."

Varya cleared her throat, trying to compose herself at his allusion to Tom Riddle. It was already frustrating to be in each of their presence; the last thing she needed was for them to start talking about each other with her. There was some fault crawling its way up her throat, and under Icarus' gaze, she felt dirty, almost as if she had done something terrible to him.

But her fascination with Tom Riddle was purely platonic, was it not? The electrifying sensation of being on the brink of death in the presence of a sociopath, the alluring pull of macabre and monstrosity.

"So, no hard feelings?" she quipped, trying to lighten the mood, but something in the boy's face stirred, and he peered at her with a gaze that cut her breath. He sighed, then gave her a soft, melancholic simper. Icarus thought about his words carefully, and considered the situation he had found himself in. He was smitten for her because there was something so exquisite and ambiguous that had arrived with her appearance. Somewhere along the way, he had found himself cherishing every moment spent with her, every hand placed on her back, and the soft touch of her skin.

Despite everyone he knew warning him against falling for Varya Petrov, he had found his heart plummeting directly in her hands, and now it belonged only to her.

"Feelings? Perhaps, but never the bad sort for you, Varya."

There it was, the words that Varya was not sure she wanted to hear, a confession with a deeper meaning. She had expected it, to a certain degree, and yet it still rendered her speechless. His feelings were out, and like Pandora's box, there was no way to stuff them back inside, and something about that terrified the girl. Perhaps, if they had been muttered a few weeks back, when he was the only person that paid her mind, she would have swooned and fallen for them, but now, her connections to other people had deepened—specifically, one with a certain Slytherin prefect.