the seven devils [completed]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖔

CHAPTER TWO

"i've been on the run since I was a boy. but now I'm done running, got another thing coming. watch my enemies get destroyed. oh, I've got troubles of more than one kind, but I never sleep, gotta bury me six feet deep."

bury me face down - grandson

When Albus instructed her to walk to the 9 3/4 station at King's Cross, she did not think much of it. Now, standing in front of a wall with a cart and a perplexed look, she thought it might have been an impractical joke. Varya glanced around, spotting a few boys with similar carts approaching. They paid her no mind as they pulled in front of the wall and then, suddenly, started running at full speed towards it. Before Varya could scream in shock, they disappeared without a trace.

The girl continued to stare at it, mouth agape until she pulled herself out of it. She backtracked a little, making sure to align herself with the wall, then ran towards it much as the previous boy had. She did not close her eyes, believing in herself.

Once she was on the other side, she bustled towards the train as the last few passengers boarded, steps flattering as they neared the entrance. Using a balustrade to propel herself upwards, the witch lurched in the corridor, barely moving out of the way of a soaring white owl. Its feathers fluttered through the surroundings, leisurely descending upon her onyx hair, and Varya plucked it out with a simper on her face. There was something oddly melancholic about the moment, a chaotic salute to her future, and desolation tidied into her bones, tasting the marrow sheltered in her spine and having the witch shiver.

Back in Romania, she did not have many close friends, as it was discouraged to depend on anyone except yourself. Nevertheless, she had a sense of familiarity when she was around her classmates, as she had known them for four years.

Thinking back to her first day, Varya could not help but be melancholic. As much as she found the school dreadfully terrifying, it had been her home. The early breakfasts in the Dark Church, the hours spent in the dungeon classes while performing rituals and curses, the time spent studying occult objects in the backyard. Now, on foreign territory, she debated her choice.

"Move out of the way!" a voice enunciated through the bustling corridor, making the witch reemerge from the land of reverie and dash backward. Varya hit the doors of a compartment, then promptly stepped inside to avoid blocking the hallway. She scowled at the passing form, string of curses just barely managing to not fall from her lips, and sighed deeply. There was no point in causing a ruckus on her first day, attracting attention she so desperately did not wish to settle upon her.

"May I help you?" a voice sounded from behind her, and she quickly turned to find a blonde boy sitting in one of the seats, obviously annoyed at the interruption. He did not seem to be doing much, and yet he was clearly bothered by her presence.

Varya gawked at him, scrutinizing his stature. He must have been the same age as her, maybe a year older, with angular eyebrows and a witty expression. If anything, he was charming, although entirely different from the boys at her school, who had a much more intimidating demeanor. The boy stood adequately in one of the train's seats, legs crossed as he looked at her with vexation. There was something adonic about him, as if he had been fragmented from a Greek collection of marvelous statues, with razor-sharp edges to his portrait and suave darkness.

"Are those seats taken?" she queried, monotony in her voice. There was no point in dwelling on small talk or introductions; her task began and ended with Tom Riddle, and any other foe was a mere pawn in an intricate game of chess.