the seven devils [completed]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

CHAPTER THREE

"why is there only one light, but two shadows? do you think something else inside me has awakened? i'm a little monster. be afraid of me, i make you suffer, i make you dream about me only."

irene&seulgi - monster

The Slytherin dorms glowed green, the lake shining through the windows. Varya stared at the creatures that swam in the deep water, their bodies coming so close to the window that she had to hold her breath. The fire crackled behind her, its sparks dancing around the room. The soft smell of burned wood triggered unwanted memories.

She shivered, pushing back the thought. No, she had left that place. There was no need to dwell in the past, but how could she not? Hogwarts reminded her of everything she had been deprived of. She reached into her robes' pockets, pulling out her wand and twirling it in her hands. Her finger skimmed the edge, testing the rough feeling of the wood.

Her mind drifted to what had happened earlier, and a soft whimper went past her lips. After realizing the boy standing in front of her was her target, Tom Riddle, they were escorted to their chambers, instructed to wait for their class schedule. As they made their way down the halls, she watched him carry himself with an incredible amount of elegance. Every smile and every word were so meticulously calculated that Varya felt her bile rising to her throat.

Growing up around darkness, the Petrov descendant knew all of its forms and tricks, and Tom Riddle was filled with it. She recognized it in the small eyebrow raise when he saw her looking at him, in the way his chest slightly went down as if letting a scoff barely escape past his lips. The worst of all, however, were his eyes. They turned a midnight blue as he observed her, questions swimming in their depth.

They did not speak, and Varya tried her best not to dwell on his charming appearance. How could such a beautiful face morph in that of terror and evilness? When Dumbledore told her of Tom Riddle, she did not know what to expect, but it definitely was not a lanky almost eighteen-year-old boy with a Veela descendant's face. There was remarkable beauty in the curves of his profile, as if he were a figment of Oscar Wilde's imagination, a perturbing mirage of what could have been a faultless being. 

Of course, she supposed it played to her advantage. Many creatures that lurked the Romanian woods would often take the form of a beautiful human, luring their prey and making them feel safe. There was such deceit in beauty, a sinful call to those of weak mind.

The door of the chamber opened slightly, a redheaded girl making her way past the threshold. She stopped in her tracks, her brown eyes falling on the other girl that was looking out the windows in wonder. For a second, she debated on her thoughts on Varya Petrov, on the enigma that she was.

With most wizarding families, there was a clear trend in their beliefs. Most pureblood families valued their genetic family tree, found themselves superior to muggles, and thought that Grindelwald's fanaticism was valuable. Although they did not necessarily support him outright, it was a known fact, especially amongst Slytherins. But what of Varya? Why was she hidden for all those years, leading the Dark Wizard to believe that one of his most devoted bloodlines had perished in the battle? There was an oddity in that thought, pieces of an intricate puzzle that mushed together to form a distorted image.

The girl cleared her throat, making Varya turn around. The Eastern witch recognized her from the sorting, as her eyes went to her delicate frame. She was made of scarlet threads, wove by the blossoming cherry trees of spring, with wine locks contouring bewitching feature. A girl made of siren songs, one that would have had sonatas written about her unmistakable grace if she had been born centuries ago. There was fiery defiance in her, crafted from burning flames of the underworld, and honeyed irises lacquered over with astonishment.