the seven devils [completed]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

THE ANATOMY OF VARYA PETROV - THE NECROMANCER

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tom Riddle was seldom impressed. He had, at some point, learned how to easily unravel characters, letting their truest form glisten brightly before his eyes. He was exceptional at divulging their secrets, their hushed desires, and found those around him to be shallow. It was comical, almost, how effortlessly he could understand people while never truly caring for anyone. A gift, or a curse, Tom Riddle was the master of perceiving.

Now, however, as he studied Varya Petrov at her most unscrupulous behavior, he could not help the tense sensation that took over his windpipe. He was surprised, yes, he could admit that. He was aware of the girl's in-depth knowledge of dark magic, but he thought her too soft to perform such witchcraft. Even more so, he had never considered that she dabbled with necromancy and spiritualism, having assumed that her training consisted mostly of martial magic, a similar curriculum to that of Durmstrang. And he did not know what to make of it, he discerned, because he did not like to be proved wrong, and the girl kept on astounding him whenever he let his guard down.

"Surprised, Riddle?" she asked, almost imperiously, entertained that the boy was studying her with something akin to admiration. She had expected it, of sorts, when she had decided to bring him with her, but it was still revigorating to see the Slytherin prefect regard her with the slightest hint of respect.

"Yes," he admitted, and now it was her turn to stare. "I did not take you to be interested in necromancy and spiritualism. As a matter of fact, I did not even know that it was still practiced."

"Perhaps not in established schools, no, but who cares for a small castle in the middle of a forgotten forest?" she answered and then pulled out the book she had purchased. "I ordered it specifically from Transylvania, and asked them to cover the title with a spell."

She passed it to him, and his fingers trailed the bumps of the title—the Tales of Beedle the Bard. To the unknowing eye, it looked like an ordinary fairy-tale book, but as Varya waved her hand over the bindings, its true form showed. The Art of the Occult: Necromancy and Rituals.

"Clever," Tom hummed. "Clever little witch."

Varya chuckled, grabbing the book from his arms then placing it in the middle of her pentagram. She stood in its center, eyes skimming over one of the rituals she had learned during her fourth year. This book, old and worn, was her textbook at the time.

It felt like home, although she did not know if she could call the castle that. Varya never sincerely had a home, but she had familiarity. Yes, this is what this was, familiarity.

"But why are you performing this?" the boy asked suddenly, still failing to piece together the information she had given him. He was lost, and it irritated him how little he truly knew of the girl. No other student at Hogwarts had ever truly caught his curiosity like this, not that he would ever admit it. It was purely nosiness, anyhow, a thirst for knowledge and skill that made him want to figure her out.