the seven devils [completed]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖎𝖝

CHAPTER SIX

"I'm uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional
I'm visceral, reloadable
I'm crazy,I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy"

twisted - missio

The crowd's cheers magnified as the Gryffindor Quidditch team scored yet another point, ensuring their lead of eighty points. Varya watched with prying eyes as the players spun mid-air on their brooms, heading towards another goal post. She turned her face towards Elladora, who was slightly despondent. It seemed as if Slytherin had suffered their first loss without their star chaser, Ivy Trouche.

The wind hit the girls' faces grimly, making their hair sway around them. Varya pulled at her scarf, using it to cover her exposed neck. The autumn breeze had settled in, leaves falling gently towards the ground as death loomed over fauna, a breathing reminder that all creation returned to dust. She pulled her bag closer, then opened it slightly to take out her Transfiguration book. Elladora threw her a glance from the corner of her eyes, unmistakable judgment passing over her face as cherry-wine locks covered her delicate face.

"Oh, Merlin, please do not tell me you will do your essay here," she said, her lips turning down in revulsion. Varya looked at her book, hesitant of her answer. She had grown tired of the game, not fully understanding it despite her friend's detailed explanation. Varya had never been one to take well to sports.

"I suppose I might head to the library then," she said softly, sending her roommate a smile before picking up her school items. She made her way down the stands, then out of the Quidditch field. She walked towards the castle, leisurely, admiring as it stretched out towards the sky with its high towers. Pursing her lips, she wondered if she could ever truly explore the whole school, as its chambers seemed never to end.

Solitude was welcome to her as she realized it was her first time being truly alone in the past week, far away from the ruckus that followed most wizards. Her eyes watered from the intense wind, and she tried to cast some protection around her with her wand but failed the simple task. It was a wrecking notion, a powerful witch reduced to nothing by inconvenience, and Varya felt her wrath pulsate under her skin, like tentacles of darkness dragging against her epidermis, begging for a release of unholy magic. She smothered their voices.

Her frustration prickled her mind, and she felt her hands harden over the useless piece of wood. Varya did not understand how it could cause her such trouble, a chain to any sorcerer's capability, a token of freedom in practice exchanged for sweet lies of a Ministry that declared the dark arts to be sacrilege. Such idiotic notions—there was nothing but honeyed sweetness in the call of devilish rituals, nothing but glory and power, and how easy it is for a nation to cower away from the gifts the Devil had blessed them with.

Thinking back to her Potion's class, Tom Riddle had offered her his help, although she knew very well that it was only a subtle method of gaining information from her. Curiously enough, he had disappeared without a trace ever since, and now she doubted he would meet her as he had promised.

She entered the castle, shutting the door behind her out of habit, took off her scarf, and walked Hogwarts' long hallways. The Slytherin Common Room was deep in the Dungeons, so she took the stairs that lead to it, deciding to use the lounge to study. There were times where the cracking sound of fire was the only lullaby that soothed an arid mind, calming down troubles and exposing inner peace.

As she stood in front of the entrance, she muttered the password, then the passage opened before her. The dim fire cast shadows on the stone walls, creating illusions and playing with her mind.