CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
They had their own wagon in the train, and Varya stood in the seat by the window, eyes dawdling over the moving trees as their transportation soared through the mountains. The ride itself would take more than a day, and Lestrange had gotten them a compartment with bunk beds to rest through the night. Tom was currently on the top one, legs dangling from the edge as he flipped the pages of his volume of philosophy.
He looked rational, sane, not like a man that had murdered a woman less than twelve hours ago, and it made Varya wonder how many others were in his state— polished beings that paraded themselves with an impression of spotless behavior and yet had their minds plagued with devilry beyond Hell's recognition. Tom Riddle was a piranha in a tank full of goldfish, and he feasted on every weak soul around him with formidable sinister desire.
As if sensing her mystified eyes, he placed his volume by his side and leaned over the railing to give her the raise of an eyebrow, "Yes?".
She parted lips in response but found herself to lack words, and instead just shook her head in distress, "Nothing." Her voice quivered— it irritated the boy beyond wits, and his eyes turned turbulent.
"Do not lie to me," his timbre was barbed, and it scratched her ears. "Is this about that Carrow woman? Did it upset you that you were not the one to kill her?"
Varya huffed in surprise, her hair falling in her face as she snapped her head toward him, "No! How could you even say that? I do not understand why you killed her in the first place— torture, yes, perhaps even her death was deserved. But you did it in such a grotesque manner."
"I see no reason to explain myself to you. She should not have doubted my power if—"
"So you killed her because of a temper tantrum? Merlin, Riddle!"
"She threatened you as well; I felt it was only fair I put her out of her miserable stupidity. Carrow was an old, lewd woman who thought too much of herself— she never stood any chance in front of the two of us, and it was not very intelligent of her to talk as such. She had it coming."
Varya threw her hands up in frustration— he could be such a child sometimes. A malicious, destructive one, but a child nonetheless. If he would go around butchering everyone that thought he was not the most powerful sorcerer to walk the Earth, then perhaps immortality was not a terrible idea since he would have to spend his time killing half of the population.
They fell into tense reticence, where he set her skin on fire with an irritated look, and she avoided his stare by counting the scratches on the small table by the window. Then, she heard him get down from his bed and walk out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him.
She took this moment of peacefulness to change into better clothes, then trailed a brush through her hair. Varya could not wait for them to reach Albania, as sharing such a tight space with Riddle was extremely suffocating, and she preferred having her privacy.
A knock sounded at the door, and she told the person to come in, expecting it to be Tom after he had calmed down. Nevertheless, it was someone else entirely.
"Ivy?" Varya puffed, and the blonde walked inside the compartment before crossing her arms. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Trouche declared, then her eyes flew to the male coat than hung on one of the bunk beds, "I saw you in the station, with Riddle, at that, and I could not believe it! He has brainwashed you as well, and it is ridiculous. Listen, grab your bags quickly, and I am sure we can get off at the next stop, and then I will keep you away from him— what does he have over you, anyway?"
Varya blinked at the girl, and found that words were hard to enunciate in a state of absolute shock, "Ivy, I am so sorry."
Of course, how could she forget that the girl resented the boy so much? Although she had quieted down in the new semester, Ivy had been vehement on destroying Riddle after he had tried recruiting Alphard Black, and probably blamed him for their break-up as well.
Ivy glared at her, then shook her head repeatedly, "No— do not tell me that you fell for his mind games as well, do not tell me that you were stupid enough to become attached. Please, Varya, tell me I am completely wrong and that what I see right now in your eyes is not affection for that vicious serpent."
"I could not help it," Varya tried to defend herself as she stopped her roommate from leaving the wagon in a fury by standing in front of the door, "He just— it happened, all right? I cannot choose whom I fall for, and as Rosier said—"
"Rosier?" Ivy threw her head back in a caustic laugh, then clapped ironically, "Unbelievable, truly. Not only did you manage to fall for the one boy I hate most in that school more than Selwyn, but you have also been hanging out with his mindless followers. Rosier, really? That drunken fool has no intellectual bone in his body, have you not seen the way they all look at him? Even Riddle knows that everything that boy says is absurd!"
Varya felt herself growing angry at her friend's judgment, and she did not like the way Trouche had let all of the compliments and admiration of their fellow peers affect her— she had been put on a pedestal, and now there was some arrogance to her that had not been there previously.
"I quite disagree. He is extremely thoughtful, and just because Ren enjoys drinking, it does not mean he is not valuable. Tom considers him an essential part of the group. Stop talking as if you know everything about everyone!"
"Oh, yeah, but you sure do, right?" Ivy bit ironically. "I am sure Riddle told you all about that, did he not? Merlin, Varya! You were supposed to be the good one!"
And that is all it took for the Petrov witch to rage.
"For Hell's sake! When will you and everyone else understand that I never wanted to be good? I am not some kind of heroine that you can all look up to; I am not here to help anyone except myself— stop attributing your values to me and treating me like some sort of puppet that you can string along," her voice had gone belligerent, and Ivy flinched back at her tone, "Varya do this! Varya, do that! I do not want to be part of your scheme against Tom, or Elladora, or anyone else. I have no interest in stealing Riddle's journal and—"
"You have no interest in stealing my journal, Petrov?"
Her body hardened, and Ivy herself blanched as she gazed over Varya's shoulder and saw the stoic face of Tom Riddle. He closed the door behind him, then stepped inside the compartment casually, yet Varya could tell he was mad beyond reason. Even so, he completely passed her, and made his way to Ivy Trouche, who tried to look up at him defiantly but somewhat cowered under his scrutinizing expression.
"Perhaps, if you had not been so worried about taking me down, Alphard would not have fallen for Elladora's manipulation so easily, Trouche," he smirked viciously.
"You little snake! So it was you who put her up to it. Why, Riddle? Because you did not fancy the idea of someone stealing your spotlight?" Ivy sounded, and then she raised her hand to strike him, but he caught it swiftly and crumpled it, making her wince. Varya tried to pull Riddle back, but the boy would not budge.
"That was the least of my worries. You see, someone like you could never outshine someone like me, regardless of the things you do to make yourself stand out. In the end, I achieve effortlessly what you strive for and much more," Tom pushed her hand away, then circled her slowly, deliberately, "But one thing I do not appreciate is you whispering ridiculous plots in Petrov's ears."
"Piss off, Riddle."
He clicked his tongue against his cheek, impatiently, "Consider this your last warning, Trouche. Stop meddling with my business, or prepare to face the consequences of your actions." He made his way to the door, then opened it for her. As she strode by, he grabbed her forearm and whispered in her ear, "It would be a shame if you would not make it to next year to accept that Captain position."
Ivy pulled her arm out of his grasp and sneered in his face, then dashed out of the compartment, letting the door fall shut behind her forcefully.
Varya sighed, and her hands went to her temples as she massaged away the headache— she was remarkably conflicted. On the one hand, she knew Ivy was being ludicrous and trying to push her into things she did not want to do. On the other hand, that was precisely what Riddle was doing too.
The boy held in his spot, then glanced at the Eastern witch, "Is that why you blew up my journal?"
She raised her eyes to meet his and was surprised to see that he had calmed down, "No. I did that because you tried to fucking kill me."
He blinked at her lethargically, then completely ignored her jab as he pulled himself up and back into the bed. They still had a few hours left of the ride, and night had fallen over Europe as the moon rose to the sky.
"I suggest you get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow," was the last thing he said before he shut the lights and let the darkness envelop them.
***
Varya Petrov felt at home amid the Albanian market, walking between stalls of wonderful vegetables, fruits, and various other trinkets. There was something awfully familiar about the southern-eastern atmosphere, the Balkanic charm that resonated on the faces of the passers-by.
She did not speak the language, yet she understood the body gestures and facial mimics of the people much better than those in England. The girl dragged her luggage behind as she followed Tom to an Inn by the forests' edge, and the boy knocked on the door.
Varya glanced around the village's center, admiring the rustic appeal of Vermosh, Albania. It was quaint, with little houses scattered in spaced patterns, and the only joint construction was the small church that stood in the middle, where the spring market was now taking place.
A woman opened the door, and Varya tried not to stare at her, as she was extremely tall, perhaps even more so than Tom. She was wearing an apron around her waist, and waved them inside eagerly.
The witch could immediately tell that this was no Parisian hotel, and yet she found that she liked it more. It was cozy, although it smelled of stew and alcohol as it also had a pub section, and yet it had an interesting appeal to it. The innkeeper guided them to their rooms, which were right by each other on the second floor, and Tom thanked her. The woman swooned at his charm, as he bowed his head politely, then left to tend to the bar once again.
"Settle in, and then meet me outside in an hour," he told her before disappearing into his own room, and Varya sighed as she entered hers.
It was small, and it only had a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe made of wood. Varya saw no point in unpacking her suitcase — she never really did — so she just left it by her bed frame, then headed back out into the spring air. After scurrying the area and concluding that Riddle was not out yet, the witch made her way to the market that was by the church, eager to see what it had to offer.
She stopped by a stall that sold multiple handmade objects and admired the dexterous craft with fascination. Then, her eyes fell on something intriguing— a leather-bound journal. A small smile made its way to her lips, and she waved over the lady that owned the stall.
"How much for that?" the girl asked, and the woman raised an eyebrow at her. Of course, they did not speak English. So Varya picked up the journal and held out a muggle bill, fluttering it in the air. The woman communicated with her hands, telling her it was twenty leks, and the girl handed over the money.
She packed the journal in a bag, then stuffed it in an inside pocket of her coat just as she saw Tom making his way out of the Inn. He looked relatively odd in his typical attire— a casual white shirt and beige trousers, probably the clothes he wore around the orphanage. Nevertheless, her heart skipped as he neared her looking more mundane than ever. It almost felt familiar, as if they were a couple on vacation. It almost made her forget that he had murdered someone twenty-four hours ago.
Varya headed to him, and her cheeks hurt from smiling at his attire— it made her happy for reasons she did not understand. He hoisted an eyebrow at her once she stood in front of him, "Why are you smiling?"
"You look delightful," the witch beamed.
Tom narrowed his eyes at her, then scoffed, and looked down at his clothes, "I fail to see how I could ever look...delightful."
"I have never seen you in anything except dress shirts and sweaters, and I think it is alluring— a nice contrast, makes you actually look like you have some humanity left in you."
"Funny."
"One of us has to be."
The boy rolled his eyes at her, aggravated by her childishness, then told her to follow him toward a bench by the Inn's gardens. They sat down, and the boy pulled up one of his maps, telling the girl to look at the marking carefully.
"We are here, right by the edge of the forest, and Lestrange marked this area as the most likely to be the one where we will find it. If Helena's story is correct, then it should be right in the heart of the woods," he explained as he leaned over her shoulder to point at places on the map, and the girl breathed in his fragrance, heart fluttering at his proximity.
"I will be honest, Riddle. I am not going anywhere tonight. I barely slept on that train, and I do not want to go walking in the woods without being fully rested."
"We have to go at night; otherwise, we will attract too much attention."
"Then we go tomorrow, or you go alone."
He threw the map to the ground in frustration, then turned around to soothe his impatience. She was unbearable and had grown to be even more so in the past weeks. It was almost as if the girl thought she was allowed to be a nuisance without consequences around him. For Merlin's sake, he had murdered someone, and she was more focused on what he was wearing.
Tom twisted around and glanced at the girl that was still sitting on the bench, staring aimlessly at the people that walked through the market place, and, at that moment, he thought she looked more radiant than she had in a while. Varya had endured a lot, most of it at his hand, and so he scoffed before letting his mind contemplate the situation.
"Fine," he growled, then looked around, "I will see you tomorrow."
Varya blinked at his figure as it disappeared into the Inn, leaving her outside. She had thought that they would spend time together, but then again— this was Tom Riddle. Things never came easily with him, and he probably locked himself in his room on free days, pulled the curtains, and hissed at snakes.
Nevertheless, the girl had to find something to do around here, and so she followed him inside, prepared to give him a detailed explanation of why they should explore the village. Just as she was about to go up the stairs, she saw a woman crying in the corner of the pub, and some of the locals had gathered around her.
Varya approached them steadily; then, they turned to give her a judgmental look as she stopped in front of the table with curiosity.
"What happened?" the girl inquired, and the locals exchanged a few glances before pushing forward a teenage boy. He could not have been older than her, perhaps the same age, and his cheeks immediately flushed at having to talk to the foreign girl.
"Miss, uh," he looked back at the weeping woman, who nodded her head viciously, "My sister, young Saemira, she got lost last night in the woods, and we have not seen her since. We saw that you came with a young man, and most of our fathers have been drafted to war after the Italian invasion."
The question was not muttered, and yet it hung in the static air, so much so that the girl felt she could almost feel its weight on her shoulders, "Which woods?".
The boy mumbled the answer rapidly, and Varya dashed to the stairs, and up to the floor she shared with Riddle. She banged at his door eagerly, and then it swung open, revealing the Slytherin heir in his grandeur. He had changed, it seemed, into darker clothes, probably bothered by her comment and lack of respect.
"What do you need, Petrov?"
"Grab a backpack and your wand— there is a missing girl in the village, and considering the news lately, I suspect it has something to do with at least one other creature," she pushed past him in the room, and scanned it quickly. He had placed all of his clothes in the wardrobe neatly, and the desk was covered in stacks of books and parchments, a quill placed near an open inkpot. She waved her hand and shut it, "You know, many say that the way we arrange our rooms is a representation of our character. Yours is always so spotless, so impersonal— you have no emotion in your design. And then there is your desk, always a mess, just like your mind."
The boy scoffed as he grabbed a bag, stuffing a change of clothes and some magical items inside. He did not really care about saving a girl, but if Varya was right, this was a creature attacking a village, and he could not help but be curious at how her spells would manifest against it.
"And how is yours?"
"Messy," she said, tilting her head from side to side as she debated, "I never unpack because I know I will leave soon— comes with never having a home."
She watched him grab his shoes and stuff his feet inside with a struggle. It was weird seeing him do such normal things. Riddle looked at her, "I never had one either, and yet I still unpack. You are just a sloth."
"You had the orphanage, some sort of stability. I got moved from my parents' home to Grindelwald's castle, then to Scholomance, then to Hogwarts. Well, I suppose you are homeless now too, since you decided to burn your place down."
He glared at her, "I did not do it."
"Right."
"I am not saying the news was not thrilling— but I was not the one to burn it down. After all, it just complicates everything for me. Now, they have to relocate me unless I can prove a stable residence. Once we are done here, I have to go to Nott's place and ask him to sign some papers for me saying his family is hosting me until I turn eighteen— you think I like that?"
"I do not know; you sometimes are extremely rash and make bad decisions out of anger—"
"I hardly ever make mistakes." She still did not believe him.
Then, the girl remembered something, and she dove her hand in her pocket before taking out the package and tossing it in the boy's lap, "There you go. Saw that and thought you would enjoy it."
Tom picked up the wrapped gift with an incredulous look, and yet he opened it with steady hands and intrigue. His eyes widened when he saw the leather journal— it was handmade, with strong stitches and harsh paper that could handle the scratching of a quill. If he could say so, it was even more beautiful than his old one. He gazed at her with uncertainty, unsure what to say. Varya bit her lip. Perhaps, he did not like it, but the boy's voice shook that worry away.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. He had never received a gift before, at least not one that did not carry some sort of emotional debt behind it, and although he could not understand the reasoning behind it, Tom found himself slightly pleased. Perhaps, this was the witch's way of acknowledging her wrongdoing in burning his journal.
Almost as if sensing his thought, Varya crossed her hands and said snarkily, "You still deserved to have your stupid diary burned for quite literally trying to kill me, but I saw it and thought you might find it useful."
It would be useful for writing, yes, and yet the boy wondered if it could ever fulfill the purpose of what the original one was supposed to do— become a Horcrux. For one to place a piece of his soul in something, the object had to be of great significance. His old notebook had been with him for years, whereas this one was new and had no strings attached to it.
Tom got up from his bed, stuffed the journal in his bag, then gestured for them to head out. Petrov walked ahead, hair bouncing as she went down the stairs and exited the pub, and he trailed closely behind.
Varya had her suspicions about what the creature itself could be— a ghoul seemed most likely considering the recent sightings, and yet she had to keep her mind open to any possibility. Sometimes, knowing little details about a task was more frightening than not knowing anything at all.
The forest was quiet as they passed the first line of trees, and that itself was worrisome. Nature was never silent, not unless something had frightened it into going mute. Varya wanted to advance, but Tom held her back, signaling that they should proceed with caution. The girl huffed and nodded, then pointed in a general direction. She could almost hear a faraway stream resonate through the vegetation, and her breath stilled as something cracked a twig in the distance.
The witch hid behind a tree, and looked around until she spotted a rocky edge a few meters away, and near it, a cave. If something in the wood were terrorizing children, it would most definitely take them underground.
"We have to go down there," she told the boy, and his eyes followed her movement. Varya could not help but compare his reaction to Icarus. The Lestrange boy had been conscientious during their encounter with a demon, and had tried to protect her until he was attacked. Tom, on the other hand, seemed almost excited at the notion of a cannibalistic creature torturing and murdering children.
The cave seemed to be the entrance to an abandoned mine, and pillars of wood kept the unstable roof up. Just by looking at the structure, Tom could tell it had been closed for being possibly unsafe. He pulled his wand out, then stepped inside quietly.
The mine itself seemed quiet, and yet that meant nothing, as ghouls were never loud unless they were hunting. As soon as Varya stepped inside, though, she felt the dark presence of death dominate over the underground.
They advanced inaudibly, and her heart rushed with trepidation, eyes glancing at Riddle continuously to make sure that he was safe. The boy did not seem to be fazed by the darkness of the tunnel, and he let his hands trail on the abandoned pickaxes and minecarts. In his mind, he was discovering a hidden piece of history.
"What do you think happened here?" Tom asked, his voice so hushed it was almost the wind's whisper, and Varya felt him lean over her shoulder to talk in her ear. She suppressed a shudder.
"At Scholomance, they thought us that places of accidents have a certain energy to them. The absolute terror in this cave, the way my palms are sweating for no reason— my body is reacting to the presence of death," her voice was grave, and the boy was entirely fascinated by her words, "It is almost like we are sitting on a mass grave."
A loud shriek resonated through the tunnel, and a few pebbles fell on Tom's curls as the frequency vibrated through the ground. Varya immediately shut both of their light-up wands, and pushed Tom behind a minecart, whereas she took cover by a wood pillar.
It was him that spotted it first— a white, odious looking creature that crawled on the walls and rattled at fast speeds. It looked like a famished cadaver, and Tom could see a bone sticking out from its skin as it hung to the walls, head snapping back and forth. It had heard them talk, as it was susceptible to sound despite being blind, and Varya found herself covering her mouth in fear.
It jumped to the ground on all fours, then slowly raised to its two back feet— it did not look any more human though, and Varya's eyes watered as she saw a small arm dangling from its mouth. It seemed that they were too late to save poor Saemira. Its long fangs were covered in fresh blood, and it leaned over the girl's arm as it ripped the flesh eagerly, splattering blood everywhere, and some droplets fell on Tom's face.
He pursed his lips in discontent, and made a small sound of disapproval— it was enough to attract the ghoul's attention. Varya stilled as she watched the ghoul approach Riddle, small ravenous shrieks leaving its mouth as it reached out to the boy blindly, trying to find him. Its claws almost grazed his hair, and that is when the girl sprung into action.
"Come here, you little bitch," she screeched, then started dashing down the tunnel as the creature let out a loud howl and jumped from wall to wall, trying to catch her. Its legs snapped and cracked beneath it, and it ran at her with a rabid look in its eyes.
Varya's heart beat faster as she took a turn, and her ankle bent at an odd angle. She winced, then ignored the pain as she continued to run away. Her body turned, and she sent out a fire blast to the ghoul, sending it flying into the opposite wall.
This gave the girl enough time to jump in a minecart and push herself down the rails; then, she used a wind caster spell to make it go faster. It crashed against a bump, and her body flew in the air before falling down four meters and hitting a rock.
***
Tom stood in his spot, unmoving, unsure what to do. Varya had dashed down the tunnel, and the creature had followed her rapidly, its screams echoing through the mine as the girl tried to get it away from him. He had made a mistake, and it had almost cost him his life.
He got up to his feet slowly, making sure that he made no significant sounds, and his eyes trailed the darkened tunnel. It was a mine, and multiple rail tracks covered the ground, some ending abruptly above steep falls to a lower level.
His pupils dilated as he saw a small body in the corner, bloodied and mangled. The little girl's face had been clawed off, and one of its eyes dangled from the socket grotesquely, her lips thorn off thoroughly almost as if something had chewed at her face. One of her limbs was severed, and the ghoul had thrown it against the wall when Varya had called for it, splattering its meat against the cave.
Tom glanced at the body stoically and was about to leave it there before he sighed in frustration. Varya would want the child to be brought back to her parents. So he cast a spell at it, levitating it above the ground and grimacing at the guts that spilled on the floor from the open abdomen, then sent it to the cave's entrance. He would pick it up later, and see if he could cast an illusion charm on it so the parents would not have to see their child so shredded.
If Varya's assumptions were correct, then the ghoul was the body of a miner that had been stuck underground after the walls had collapsed, and out of desperation, he had feasted on the flesh of his mates. Riddle grimaced at that, utterly disgusted by the imagery, and then he stared ahead at where Varya had run.
The wizard picked up his pace, and yet strode around carefully, trying to listen for the creature as it crawled in the dark. They could not have gotten far, and yet he was met with utter silence. His brain twisted as he considered his options— he could leave right now and look for the diadem, as the danger would present a risk to the cause, or he could look for Varya and try to see if she was alive.
The option came easily, and with a sigh, he swung his feet over a drop as he lowered himself into the next level. Tom made sure to engrave a symbol on the walls he passed; otherwise, they would never know which way to go.
"Riddle!"
His head snapped to the dark entrance that led to a different area than where he had seen the girl run, and Tom frowned. His feet made their way, and just as he was about to go down that path, he stopped— the voice had sounded like Varya, and yet there was something different about it. The girl's timber was lower than most girls, and whenever she said his name, her accent made it sound completely different. More so, the girl had made a habit out of calling him Tom.
"Riddle, come help me!"
The voice was whiny, needy— it did not belong to the strong Obscurial. Something was trying to lure him into the shadows by mimicking her voice, and his heart sped up as he realized that Varya was nowhere around. How did it even know his name? For how long had it been watching them in the forest?
His skin covered with goosebumps, and he retracted slowly before heading down the opposite pathway. The boy spotted a cart that had turned upside down, and he walked to it faster, knowing that he had heard one trailing against the railway after the creature had chased the girl.
Sure enough, four meters below, was Varya Petrov's body, and his breath stilled as he saw the blood pooling from her head. Fuck— he hoped she was alive. Tom threw himself to the ground, wincing as his shoulder hit something harsh, and when he turned to look at it, his eyes enlarged at the corpses that ornated the ground.
A mass grave, the girl had pondered, and it seemed to be extremely accurate. Some bodies had already turned to skeletons, and their miner clothes clung to them in dusty rags, whereas some were in different stages of putrefaction, with parts that had been chewed off or missing limbs. Tom's eyes watered at the rancid odor, and he scurried to get to the girl as he saw a shadow sliding against the wall.
He grabbed Varya's body, and sighed in relief when he felt the pulse against his palm, then dragged it in an opening in the wall. Riddle assumed that this pit was where the creature would dump the bodies it had feasted on, and the scent of death would hide the metallic odor of Varya's blood.
Tom quickly cast a silencing charm on them, and then he put her up against the wall and grabbed her face, trying to shake her awake, "Petrov! Bloody hell, this is not the time for a nap," he muttered as his eyes darted to the ghoul that was now crawling on the wall in alertness.
Varya groaned, then blinked her eyes open as she stared at Riddle. Her vision was spotty, and she felt light-headed due to blood loss. Her head fell to the side, and that is when she saw the creature. Shit, they were still in the cave.
"The girl?" she managed to get out, and Tom ripped at his dark shirt, then used the material to apply pressure to her wound. Varya bit back a scream at the pain, and she knew her skull must have been at least slightly fractured by the way her bone moved at the touch.
"Dead," he said absently, as his only focus was reducing the active bleeding. He should have asked Lestrange and Avery to give him more books on medical spells, "Her body is by the entrance. We need to get out, but I have no idea how we get past that beast."
"It fears fire," Varya said weekly, then grabbed Tom's wrist, "Stop that, it hurts."
"You prefer bleeding out?"
The girl narrowed her eyes at him, but said nothing as she glanced at the ghoul who was still searching for them. Then, she noticed the corpses, "If we can get back up to the first floor, I can set the pit on fire. The clothes the cadavers are wearing should be enough for me to light up, and it will scare the ghoul away."
"But how do we kill it?"
"You cannot— it is immortal. Perhaps, you should consider feasting on human flesh as well since you are so desperate for that."
"Charming, but this is not the time for your distasteful jabs. There must be a way to murder it."
"Maybe," Varya pondered, "I think you might be able to by decapitation, but with the speed that it is moving at, we would never have time before it sunk its claws in our chest."
"You think?" Riddle scoffed. He tied the improvised bandage around the girl's head, much like Elladora did whenever any of the Knights would sustain serious head injuries. "Use your Obscurus."
"This whole mine will fall on us if I do that," Varya argued as the boy got her to her feet, "Our best shot is trying to scare it with fire, and then once we are outside, we make the mine collapse in on itself. It will not be able to get out, at least not until someone starts digging."
Tom nodded, and then they stepped out into the pit. They walked towards one of the ladders by the side, and the boy climbed up first before handing out a hand to the girl and dragging her upwards. Varya groaned as the pounding in her head increased, and she clung to Riddle for support as they got up on the edge.
The ghoul's shriek intensified as it heard the pebbles rattle from their movement, and just as it jumped in the air towards them, Tom sent out a fire spell, scaring it into cowering to the edge.
"Run!"
They both dashed amongst the corridors, Tom holding onto her wrist and guiding her through the maze of tunnels that he had marked while the ghoul continued crawling on the ceiling and chasing them. Varya gasped for air as they neared the entrance, and then turned her head to the beast before sending another fire spell its way.
Just as they pulled through the exit, Riddle managed to grab the body that he had left there, and Varya sent a blasting spell toward the entrance just as the ghoul tried to pounce from the shadows, crushing it underneath the weight of the mountain.
They both stood in their places, panting furiously, before Petrov collapsed to her knees. She felt weak, dizzy, and Tom had to hoist her up and carry her through the woods, the child's body levitating behind them.
"What are we going to tell the parents?" Varya's voice cracked as she saw the young one's destroyed figure, and knew there was no explanation for how bad it had gotten. Her heart churned for the girl who had been killed too early, and yet she knew that at least the situation would not escalate as it had in Switzerland.
"She wandered into the mines and fell. The impact killed her," then he cast an illusion charm on the body, and where the limb had been ripped off grew a new one. The corpse still had a few signs of trauma, typical of those that died from falling due to heights, but it no longer carried the macabre story of a ghoul murder.
They made their way back to the Inn, making sure that nobody saw their display of magic, then Tom set the Eastern witch back to her feet, "Can you walk?"
"Yes, I am just dizzy. The adrenaline is keeping me awake, but I will have to treat my wounds as soon as we go back inside. You will have to talk to the family."
As soon as they walked in, Tom carrying little Mira, her mother's wails filled the room, and she threw herself at the ground in front of the boy's feet. Varya sent him a stare before climbing the stairs rapidly, hoping that Tom could gather enough compassion to tell a convincing story and comfort the woman who had just lost a child.
The witch slammed the door behind her, then winced as she felt the pain kick in at full speed. She sat down on her bed and pulled her wand before applying slight pressure with it, feeling the way the bone moved underneath her skin. With teary eyes, she grabbed her potion pouch, then scrambled to find the one that cured broken bones and downed it eagerly.
It tasted bitter, and her head pulsated with a deep ache as the bones settled back in their place, but at least she would not have any serious cranial trauma— Merlin bless magic. Varya pulled at her dirty clothes and threw them to the side before walking inside the bathroom and turning on the shower. She scrubbed at her murky skin, then washed her hair eagerly before stepping out and putting on her nightgown.
Her skin was covered in bruises, and she picked up the ointment that she had brought and started applying it in the mirror that was beside her wardrobe. Her hands bent awkwardly as she tried to reach the ones on her back, and yet she found herself unable to.
A knock sounded at her door, and she let her gown fall back down, "Yes?"
Tom pushed open the door, and his eyes widened at her improper attire before he stepped into the room quickly, shutting the door behind him, "What are you doing?".
"Trying to treat my bruises so I can still walk tomorrow," she sighed, glancing at her purple legs, "Mind helping me?"
The boy stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he felt his feet move across the floor. Tom stood behind her, and she passed him the ointment before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He followed swiftly, then moved her hair aside to dab the treatment on her nape.
His fingers were soft, and Varya felt goosebumps cover her skin at the proximity. She bit back a soft sigh that almost slipped through her lips, then closed her eyes and enjoyed the way he touched her— soft, cautious, almost as if she was something he did not want to break.
"You saved me from that creature," Riddle said eventually as he moved to the girl's arms. He pushed her short nightgown sleeves up, revealing her shoulders, and then he pressed delicate fingers against milky skin covered in dots and spots of purple.
"You would have done the same thing," Varya tried, then she met his eyes through the mirror and saw the hesitation, "...or not."
"When will you understand?" Tom leaned in, murmuring against her ear as he trailed his hand down her arm, "I do not care for you. I do not care for anyone except myself and what I stand for."
He trailed his lips down her neck, then pressed a soft kiss on her shoulder, and her hands grasped at his thigh as she bit down a groan. Varya's eyes rolled back, and his hands lifted her nightgown up her back, before Riddle continued applying the lotion, massaging it into her skin.
Tom was not sure what to make of the girl— all he knew was that his body reacted to her in ways it had not to other women, and that it pleasured him wildly to touch her. So he continued doing so, although selfishly, not caring that her heart sped up as his velvet lips touched cashmere skin. He was greedy for more; he wanted to drown in how he felt electrified whenever she was near.
Nevertheless, the boy's heart was still of stone, and besides the natural human reaction to sexual desire, Tom Riddle's mind continued to be of a darker nuance, where every rose that grew shriveled in the cold storm of trauma and despair.
Eventually, he had covered every inch of her with his lips and her medical cream, and he stood up from his position. Tom wanted things, things that should be shared only between people who cared for each other, and despite his guilt-free mind telling him to take it, he stepped away. No, he needed her mind to be on alert for what he had prepared tomorrow.
"I will see you at breakfast."
Each time he left her, it hurt a little more.
***
Not a fan of this chapter but yeah at least it's a bridge for the next one. Thank you for over 21k views!!