CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The sun rose brightly over the Rosier estate, blazing over the statues that ornated the entrance, waking them up from slumber. It was the morning of Christmas Day, and the blizzard that had taken over the land during nighttime had covered the vegetation with a pristine blanket of snow. The trees that surrounded the hectares of the plot had also been covered in dainty flakes, and the scattered animals that roamed the forests had taken shelter from the cold.
On the second floor of the manor, a window was open, and a girl — as vigorous as the sturdy wood of the pines that covered the horizon — let her legs dangle from the edge, feeling the coldness of the early hour on her pallid skin. She was still dressed in her nightgown, midnight hair pulled away from her face in a sophisticated braid, and her eyes were closed as she let the dim rays of sun hit her overheated flesh. Her lips were pulled in a serene smile, and her heart pumped blood through dilated veins as her brain released more serotonin than usual.
After all, it was the first Christmas morning that Varya Petrov would spend in the sunlight.
Then, out of nowhere, she felt a snowball hit her flat in the face, and she yelped as she commenced to fall backward, only to be suspended mid-air by a spell and be brought back to the edge of the window. Varya wiped the snow off her dress, flinching at the cold sensation, then threw a noxious glower towards Renold Rosier and Nicholas Avery. They were both outside, dressed in thick coats and extravagant scarves, and seemed to be coming back from a morning walk.
"Merry Christmas, you little vixen," yelled Avery, his hands on the sides of his mouth to propel the sound, "now, mind joining the rest of us for breakfast?"
Varya rolled her eyes, then leaped inside her room, heading to one of her trunks. She had not unpacked, too lethargic to deal with it, and so she had to rummage through her clothes to find suitable attire. Once the girl got dressed, she headed down the main staircase, and as she reached the middle balcony that overlooked the foyer, she stumbled into Tom Riddle, who was still shaking out the sleep from his orbs.
It was uncommon to see the boy so unguarded, as he pressed the end of his palms against his eyes to wake himself up, then gave a hearty yawn that signaled he had not slept very well, as if his thoughts had kept him up. His hair was a bit more disordered than usual, and he hastened to properly do his tie as he stomped down the stairs, hands a bit jittery.
"Riddle," greeted Varya, heading to the half-awake boy with swift steps, almost as if she was pulled by an invisible string, "did not get enough sleep?"
Tom's eyes were hooded over, and he gave her a distressed look as he shook his head, still fumbling with his tie in frustration, "Oh, for Merlin's sake!"
"Let me," the girl sighed, and before she discerned what she was doing, her hands flew up to his neck, placing the tie carefully around it and gripping at its edges. Tom halted, and in his tired state, he only processed fidgety hands and the citric fragrance that he had grown used to, his mind still fuzzed over from the lack of sleep. He watched her face as it scrunched in concentration, tying the knot as if she had practiced it multiple times, a strand of hair sticking out from her braid and trailing down the nape of her neck and dropping to her collarbone. His hands tingled. She finished the tie. "There you go."
He seized her wrist without thinking, and the girl let a small breath past her lips as she looked at where his skin touched her, and her cavity filled with the fluttering of brittle wings as her blood elevated to her cheeks. Then, almost as if shaking himself out of it, he dropped her hand by her side, biting the inside of his cheek.
Varya met his eyes, and the sobriety in them almost made her take a step back. Tom Riddle was gazing at her with a look she had never seen before, almost as if she had been reborn in his eyes. There was something so captivating about him, and she wanted to reach out to touch him again. They stood there for a few seconds, both unsure what to say, before Tom grumbled something and headed down the last few steps of the stairs and into the dining room.
The girl let out a melancholic sigh, and her arms went around her body, an indescribable sensation of coldness taking over as the boy left her surroundings. Her heart drummed in her chest as Varya thought about the boy, and a fervent sensation engulfed as she trailed the part of the wrist that he had touched. She shook her head with a sardonic chuckle, then made her way to where breakfast was being served.
Rosier's parents were nowhere in sight, probably preparing for the festivities that would start that night, and Varya sat down as far away from Riddle as possible. Icarus gave her a tender smile as he took the seat next to her, and out of nowhere, pulled a small box with a ribbon on top. He placed it on the girl's plate, then gestured to it.
"For you," he said shyly, and then turned his head away, not wanting to see her reaction.
Varya frowned in puzzlement, then picked up the package with sensitive fingers, and pulled at the ribbon until it came undone. She opened the box; then, her eyebrow went up in surprise at the pair of silver earrings that stood inside, a sly lynx carved on the circular silver drops.
"This is too much, I—"
"Nonsense," declared Icarus, a blush coating his scarred cheek, "The tailor told me your dress was silver, and I thought they would fit you well. It is nothing, truly, but if you do not like them—"
"No, they are delightful. Thank you, Icarus," Varya beamed at him, then peered down at the jewelry with fondness. He had taken the time to customize them for her and had given her a present despite the fact that he was not supposed to.
She glanced at Tom, who was watching her from the corner of his eyes, and she felt a different kind of feeling overtake her, something that was a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Why was it that whenever Icarus approached her, she would immediately let her mind wander to the Slytherin prince, and then a feeling of shame would overtake her? The truth was right on the tip of her tongue, and yet she could not let herself admit it.
"I will come to your door at seven, the party should begin by then, and we can walk together if that is something you would like," he stated, scratching his neck as he avoided her eyes. Sometimes, Varya wished that he had more confidence when approaching her.
"Of course," she responded, and there it was again— the shame.
To avoid further conversation with the boy, Varya stuffed her mouth with the eggs from one of the platters in front of her and tried to get them down her throat despite the odd constriction of her esophagus. She picked up a small napkin and started tearing it up due to her tsunamic nerves, anxiety taking over her being.
Merlin, why was she reacting like this? Her eyes kept flickering to Tom, who was only gawking at his full plate, mind somewhere far away, and for a moment, she hoped she could read his thoughts. He blinked fast, then elevated his head to meet her stare again, and he seemed to breathe slower, a small crease between his eyebrows.
Nicholas Avery walked in later than the rest, and threw himself on the chair across her, eventually attracting her attention, then gave her a small salute. His shoes were muddy, sign that he had been out in the forest and beyond the estate, and the girl wondered what the boy could be looking for so early in the morning.
"The marbles," he began, speaking openly as there were no other people besides the Knights and Varya in the room, "you left them at my door in a bag, and I have them in my coat for tonight. I will pass them off to Lopheus, and when all is done, we will send you a signal."
"If you need our help—" started Icarus, but Varya raised her hand. She did not mean to come off as harsh, but her mind told her that this was the moment to prove her worth, and so it was better that she handled it alone despite all.
"I will be quite all right, thank you. I can handle myself surely, and besides, it is best that I meet them alone. They will be more inclined to talk," she answered, passing Avery a plate for his breakfast. He thanked her, then dove into the food as if he had been ravenous for days.
Icarus nodded, although he still despised the idea. With what they had found out the previous night about Varya, there was only a matter of time before danger would start looming over her, and when that time came, she would need reinforces by her side. It was not something she was meant to handle alone, and he wanted to be by her side through the darkest times.
"Just be careful," he mumbled, and he felt guilty over not being able to tell the girl the truth, but he knew his loyalty to Riddle could not be broken. More so, it was for her own good that she did not find out from them, but rather figure it out by herself.
Varya thanked him, then got up from her seat, heading towards the door. The witch felt his eyes on her as she walked away, but something told the girl that if she turned around to meet them, she would end up muttering words she did not mean, and so the door shut behind her frame. Her wrist still tingled.
She meant to visit the Rosier library before the party, as the witch aimed to see if she could find out more about wizards that had used magical creatures to do their bidding. Of course, that was not something she could find in her book on demonic creatures, as it related more to the history of wizards, and so she needed to look through the Rosier collection.
As she entered the great library, Varya could not help but be impressed by the countless books that adorned the walls. Because the library was in a tower, there was a spiral staircase in the middle of the room that led to the multiple levels of the shelves, small balconies extending for each section.
She heard footsteps coming from the row above her, and sure enough, Maxwell Nott was on the floor with a plate of untouched food beside him, eyes drifting through the parchments as he bit his lips in worry. His hair was ruffled, and much like Tom, he did not seem like he had gotten much sleep.
"You look half-dead," tittered Varya as she approached him, and the boy jumped at her voice, quickly scrambling to pick up his readings and stack them behind him, "What are you hiding?"
Nott only gave her a cold glare, and Varya jeered. Although by now, she was used to his refusal to speak to her, it still bothered her when she asked him something directly, and yet he would not bother answering. They had only ever directly talked to each other in the carriage at Hogwarts, and even that had been around other people. For some reason, the boy had always been recalcitrant around her.
"All right, what is your deal? You act as if speaking to me will have you grow serpents instead of hair," she said, sitting on the floor across from him. She made to grab at one of his papyruses, but the boy aimed his wand at her.
"Mind your business," he growled.
"Ah, so you can speak to me after all, there we go," she breathed, then looked around the library, "I need your help."
"Why would I help you?" he questioned, irritated. He had better things to do and did not enjoy being commanded around by someone other than Riddle.
"Because I said so, and because your mighty leader allowed me to order your around in exchange for my own help," remarked Varya, then got up and instructed him to do the same. She had lost patience with the boy a long time ago.
Maxwell scowled at her, but got up with a grunt, knowing that the longer she was in his presence, the more likely it was he would find out about the subject he was reading on, "What is it?"
"I need you to get a book on the history of bloodlines and their correlation to magical creatures," she said, and Nott's eyes widened. Even so, he composed himself quickly, and cleared his throat as he made his way toward a different section in the library, the Slavic witch following closely behind.
Should he help her with this? Was it not a risk, considering— but then again, perhaps, in some way, it was better that she looked into it. After all, Tom wanted to use her powers to their benefit, and unless the witch became aware of their secret, she would never fully let herself embrace it. So he stopped in front of a row full of history books on dark creatures and picked a title that he had spent the whole night taking notes of, then passed it to the girl.
"That was quick," she muttered suspiciously, but Nott only shrugged.
"I grew up in this library, I know almost every book," half a life, it would take him his whole life to read every book in the Rosier Manor, but he did not oppose the idea. There was nothing better to do with his existence that pursue knowledge, after all.
Varya thanked him, then let him go back to whatever it was that he was doing, and headed to a completely different part of the library to read. On the fifth balcony, she found a small sofa chair by a stained window that showed a beautiful mermaid splashing in the sea, and sat down to begin her lecture.
The book was odd, and Varya was slightly confused as to why Nott had given it to her. She had asked for a lecture on dark beings and their dealings with the wizarding world, and yet the boy had passed her a book on blood lineage of some of the most ancient families. She opened the index, eyes skimming over the names, and she frowned when she saw that one of them had been underlined.
Salazar Slytherin, page fifty-three.
The girl flipped pages until she reached the specific chapter, wondering why it had been marked, and as her jaded eyes skimmed over the page, something caught her eye. The Gaunt family lineage was sprawled over a whole page, ending with the name of Merope Gaunt. A line was traced from her, leading to an heir that had been marked off of the book, but the father's name was still on the page.
Tom Riddle, Senior.
Her heart beat faster, and she tossed the book to the floor, almost as if it had scorched her hands. No, it was impossible, there was no way Tom Riddle was the heir of Slytherin. However, it made so much sense— that is why the descendants of the Sacred-Twenty Eight were loyal to him; that is why they acted as if he was some sort of god.
Because, to them, he was a demigod, a descendant from the man that had established their House and beliefs. Tom Riddle was the picture child for the Slytherin house, admittedly a tad dark, and yet his ambition and cunningness were undoubtful. Varya kneeled to the floor, picking up the book and opening it to that page yet again. She looked at the picture of Salazar Slytherin, a reptilian face that carried cunningness and resolve, and her eyes were drawn to an object that hung from his neck— the locket she had stolen from the shop.
A family heirloom, something that Tom probably recognized in the store, and when Burke had refused to sell it to him, he had grown incredibly angry, probably plotting his painful demise. So, how would the boy react if he found out that Varya had stolen it and hidden it away from him?
She considered an option— giving it back— but her head hammered with instinct, and something told her that it would be a disastrous idea. There had to be something more to this, a reason for which Riddle was so hellbent on acquiring it.
Varya got up, glancing around the library, and put the book on a nearby table, heading to her room in a hurry. She did not know what Tom was planning, but almost as if a guiding voice was whispering in her ear, she knew that she was supposed to hide the locket from him as far as possible.
Maxwell Nott watched her leave the library, a small smirk on his face, but what the boy did not know was that he had made a grave mistake. In his hurry to encourage Varya to look at a book about magical beings that relied on wizards for survival, he had handed her the wrong volume and had unknowingly exposed a secret that would cost their cause immensely.
Varya ran down the hallways, ignoring the odd looks she received from the elves, and opened the door to her chamber, slamming it behind her with furry. She went to her jewelry box, taking out the coverage that led to the secret compartment, and picked Slytherin's locket from inside. She gulped as she held it in the open, and threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody would see her. The witch was playing a dangerous game, and she knew that if Riddle were ever to find out what she was about to do, Europe would no longer be safe for her.
The witch stuffed it in her cloak and headed out the door. She took the back exit, knowing very well where she was headed. Nevertheless, her journey was stopped as she encountered Elladora Selwyn.
"Where are you going, Petrov?" the redhead inquired, approaching the girl as she came from one of the trails that lead to the woods. "You look quite flustered."
Varya glared at her, then tried to walk past, but the girl's hand flew out and caught her by her robe, dragging her back.
"I asked a question, and you look quite suspicious right now, and so I would prefer if—"
She did not have enough time to finish her sentence, as Varya took out her knife and knocked its handle into her skull, sending the girl flying to the ground and out cold, "That is for poisoning me, you wench."
Then, she took her wand out and rapidly cast the Obliviate spell on the body, knowing that it was better to cover her tracks. At most, Elladora would wake up with a nasty bruise and in a confused state, and even if she ever suspected it had been Varya to knock her out, she would have no proof of it.
The eastern witch scoffed at her passed out the figure, and bit back any type of remorse she had for the awful girl, then continued to make her way into the woods, disappearing from the eyes of anyone who had seen her.
She paced through the trees in a rush, moving branches as she went off the trail and into the general direction that Icarus had pointed to when they stood at the charmed entrance of the Rosier Manor. Although she could now see the vast estate, the woods were still the same, and that meant that the ghosts would still be here.
Surely enough, she felt the temperature drop once she reached a small clearing of the forest, and between the rocks scattered amongst the frozen river stood restless spirits. They looked at her with a menacing glare, and Varya's heart beat faster as she approached them, ignoring the paranoia that started to settle in her bones.
It was not uncommon that in the presence of spirits that had had premature deaths and haunted their departure place, one would be hit with a severe feeling of paranoia. That is why whenever Varya sat alone in a room, and she suddenly felt watched, she knew there was a ghost sitting right behind her. It happened quite often, as ghosts tended to roam the Earth freely, and most were not ready to accept their death just yet.
"I do not mean any harm," she panted once she was a few meters away from them, "I need your help."
One lonesome ghost stood out from the crowd, and approached her in wonder, inundated face looking at her with awe. It was a woman, perhaps a few years older than the girl, and half of its face has been blown off, exposing its mandibula and cheekbones. No doubt, the woman had been a victim of the First World War bombardments, and although Varya's heart went out for her suffering, she could not help but recoil at its touch. It reached out for her face, then let the coldness of its dead finger trace the girl's chin until they reached her ear, where a silver earring dangled, "So pretty."
Its voice was faded, almost a whisper, and its translucent being stood in front of Varya as the girl started again, "I need you to hide something for me, keep it safe so that nobody can ever find it."
The ghost tilted its head, and Varya could see the exposed muscles in its face elongating, but she bit back the bile that almost rose to her throat, "You make dealings with spirits, child? Then you know, a price must always be paid..."
"I know," breathed Varya, although part of her had wished her teachings at school about pacts with spirits had been false. Wizards had always reached out to spirits to do their bidding before spiritualism was banned in most countries, so much so that eventually the other realm had decided to make a rule— you could ask for their help, but you always had to pay a high price. Sometimes, it would not be worth it, and non-corporeal beings could easily trick you. "Hide this locket from anyone that ever seeks it, make sure that nobody can retrieve it except me, and I will give you whatever you want."
The ghost cackled, jawbones repeatedly smashing against each other on open display, then gave her a sinister sneer, "Very well, my price is the radiance of your smile, and the light in your eyes. From now on, whichever man looks at you for your beauty, will find himself to admire it half as much."
Varya's eyes carried an internal conflict, unsure of whether she should accept the bargain or not. A hefty price, and yet she knew that the locket would be kept away from Riddle until she knew of his plans, and if they were treacherous in nature, it would be hidden forever, with no way to be traced.
Varya Petrov had always been a selfish being, a person who had been taught that her own needs should come above everyone else, and when she had accepted Albus' task, she had done it only because she wanted to escape Scholomance.
At any point, she could have backed out, told the Professor that it was too big of a burden, and yet her vanity had made her keep trying, her fascination with Riddle only going more vigorous each day. She wanted to best him, to outwit him in every single way, and crumble his arrogance once and for all.
Now, it was something else that fueled her, a deep emotion that wanted to surface more than ever. Firstly, for her friends, whom she had grown attached to, and even to the Knights, who had proven to be capable of loyalty and camaraderie between them. Although not all of them had taken kindly to her, some had been willing to fight alongside her or help her with Riddle's mission.
Secondly, she wanted to do it for Tom. When she had come to Hogwarts, he was nothing but a dark shadow that walked the corridors, an authoritative figure that could command a room with the simplest gesture. He had done terrible things to her, had caused so much pain that Varya did not know if she could be whole again, and had left a gaping hole in her soul.
Now, it was precisely because of that hole that she had developed such entangled thoughts of the boy, that made Varya see that Tom needed to be changed desperately and that he deserved a life of compassion and light, not only the grotesque darkness. Moreover, when he had started opening to her, and when he had not murdered her on the spot for putting a knife to his throat or told her the name of his deceased mother, Varya had seen hope, and she wanted to cling on to that.
And then there were the things she could not admit to herself— the speediness of her heart when their skin touched, the way her eyes always sought out for him in a room, or how she had debated buying a scented candle that reminded her of him. But those had been done unconsciously, and the girl was still very much aware of the truth behind her "fascination."
Because of that, she found herself nodding to the spirit, and as she passed her the necklace, she felt a chunk of her as it was ripped out from her being, and the eastern girl lost a part of her beauty in that moment.
"Very good, very good," the spirit susurrated, "we will keep it safe, and if you ever come back for it, just ask for Amalie Bisset."
With that, the spirits retracted from the clearing, and the rays of the sun started peaking through the clouds again, hitting Varya's face. The girl swallowed harshly, unsure of whether she had acted correctly.
The locket was gone— well, at least until she would come back for it, and part of her knew that one day it would end up with its rightful owner, Tom Riddle, but only when the boy would have given up his conquest for nefarious glory. If there was still hope for redemption, that locket would be provided in good faith.
And Varya would not know this at the time, but it had been that decision that had made another shift in the time vail because with the locket gone, there would never be a cave filled with Inferi, or a trial to get the locket, and without those things, the soul of a teenage boy by the name of Regulus Black would not be taken.
The girl turned around, and made her way back to the manor, shoulders sagged in desolation. When she reached the back door again, she noticed that Elladora was no longer on the ground, and could only assume that the girl had woken up and went inside.
She entered the house and noticed that the clock on the wall showed that there were only two hours left until the ball. Because of that, House-Elves had started running around the floors in a hurry, trying to prepare everything as fast as they could. Garlands were being carried across the corridor, and she could see a few elves moving furniture to make the entrance more spacious. In particular, one House-Elf was swinging from a chandelier, trying to clean up every speck of dust from its dangling jewels.
"Miss, please go prepare," screeched one, then pushed Varya to the stairs, and the girl sighed before heading to her room.
She did not want to prepare, as her mind was still a mess because of the information she received. Tom Riddle was the heir of Salazar Slytherin— but what exactly did that mean? There had to be more to the story. There was a part that she was missing altogether, and the girl knew it would drive her insane until she could figure it out.
After bathing, she hurried to pick up the dress that the Rosier tailor had left on her bed, and smiled as she felt its glittery silver fabric. It was a beautiful dress, sophisticated, and it reached the floor in a long train. There were no sleeves this time, only thick straps that hung off of her shoulder loosely, meeting in the middle in a V-neckline, clasped together by an embroidered sigil of a lynx. The material around the waist was tight, and when Varya put it on, she almost struggled to breathe.
She let her hair fall in waved over her back, only pulling half of it up in a hair-do as she braided her front locks and pinned them back. Then, she added silver leaves along the strands, making it look like a crown. Lastly, she clasped Icarus' earrings in her ears, letting them shine in the light.
Just as she was done, a knock sounded on her door, and her eyes darted to the clock. It was time for Icarus to pick her up. Varya headed to the entrance, and opened the door slowly, standing before Lestrange, who was dressed in a fashionable tux.
He raised an eyebrow at her face, "Are you unwell?".
Varya bit back a grimace, and ignored the painful tug at her heart as she realized the meaning behind the boy's question— her beauty had been halved, and he had taken notice to it, which meant that Icarus had valued her appearance above all else. It was a painful notion because although the girl had not fallen for him as he had, she had taken a liking to the boy in some way.
"I am fine, can we just go?" she mumbled, grabbing his hand and heading out the door as she hid her face from the boy.
Icarus followed her, and they stopped right before the balcony of the staircase, as Varya saw the rest of the Knights waiting on the steps. Elladora seemed well enough, although Varya could notice the overly powdered area on her temple, probably an attempt to cover the purple bruise.
Maxwell was leaning on the staircase's rail, glancing over at the guests as they had begun to enter through the main entrance, and Abraxas Malfoy was chatting with Nicholas Avery a few steps down.
Renold Rosier stood by the entrance, greeting the attendees cheerfully, and he engaged in polite small talk as the multitude of wizards and witches passed his house's threshold.
Then, Varya's eyes met those of Tom Riddle, who was looking at her much as he always had, his eyes a mix of intrusiveness and hatred, but as she started making her way towards the group while holding Lestrange's arm, something shifted in them.
And they carried the slightest hint of warmth.