the seven devils [completed]

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

THE ANATOMY OF RENOLD ROSIER - THE SOCIALITE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It had taken days for Varya's magic to heal, and it had been a torturous process, for nothing was more damaging to a sorceress than losing her strength. She had excused herself from most classes, some part of it because she felt that she could not perform at her best, the other part because she did not want to face Tom Riddle in such a deplorable state.

After their escapade to the wizarding village, Hogsmeade, the two had arrived back at the castle in absolute silence, each going back to their chambers and trying not to wake up their roommates. They had not spoken since, and Varya did not know if it was her distress at what had happened or his recalcitrant nature; alas, they kept their distance, only stealing fugitive glances in the Common Room.

Now, she was back in the magical classrooms, scribbling down every word that passed the lips of her Care of Magical Creatures professor, Silvanus Kettleburn. He was a docile man, and he loved his profession, but Varya could not take him seriously. His recklessness with the creatures they studied was blatant, often not taking necessary precautions when bringing them in for observations.

"Chimeras, yes!" his voice permeated the room as students struggled to write down his rapid words, almost a river of inconsistency and rambling. "In your textbook, you will find me credited for the information, as I helped Newton Scamander with it, ah. Great times, indeed, such a remarkable young lad. Terrifying what he is up to nowadays, his constant fight against Grindelwald."

Varya felt the pairs of eyes that turned to her, but she disregarded them, gripping her quill harder and gawking at her desk. Although the buzz of the Petrov witch had died down drastically, she still felt the obnoxious stares of her classmates whenever there was news of Grindelwald's army. Some even speculated that she was a spy, that her parents had never actually been killed. They just lived in retirement, they said, the Dark Wizard's generals, and had sent their blasphemous daughter to corrupt Hogwarts, find allies.

"They look at me much the same," said Renold Rosier from her right. She turned her head to him, taking in his luxurious appearance.

Renold Rosier was an aristocrat, a mighty name in the European scenery that implied allurement, sparkling chandeliers that towered over french marble in ballrooms and extravagance. However, the spectacular name had been tainted by a black sheep. Vinda Rosier, a beautiful french witch, had allied herself with Gellert Grindelwald, sharing his fanaticism and eventually indulging in his corruption.

"Do they?" Varya said bitterly, and with a glance around the room, she noticed that not one student was glowering at the French descendant. "Or has your father thrown so many balls, popped so many expensive champagne bottles and bribed so many ministers that, perhaps, everyone has forgotten?"