the seven devils [completed]

chapter twenty-three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

London had grown more morose over the few months Della Beauchamp had been away from home, and now, Varya watched her aghast face as they walked down Euston Road, her teary eyes glancing back and forth between the fallen buildings and the homeless people that cradled themselves underneath whatever cover they could find, trying to shield their bodies from the harsh winter wind.

The Blitz had happened two years ago, and the city was still recovering from the terrible bombings, many families having been displaced, their homes destroyed. It was the winter of 1943, and Hitler had just started retracting from the Eastern Front. The Western side, however, would still have years of suffering ahead of them, and the Teheran Conference was still deciding on when to oppose the nazi forces on the French territories.

Varya watched as a group of soldiers passed them, and was astounded to find them smiling as they chattered eagerly amongst themselves, patrolling the streets. They could not have been much older than her, their faces still carrying the youth of teenagers, and yet they had been ripped from their families' comfortable homes to fight against the heinous greed of their world leaders. Even those who survived were victims.

Almost as if hearing her thoughts, one soldier turned towards Varya, a hint of a grin still stitched on his face due to the lively conversation he had just had. He met her eyes, and Varya held her breath at his intense stare. He was a handsome lad, around her age, and his uniform fit him snuggly. He carried a gun on his shoulder, and Varya gazed with wonder at it, pondering how it would feel like to shoot a bullet instead of a spell.

"Excuse me," she heard him mutter to his friends, then watched as he made his way towards her with prideful steps. He stopped about a meter away from her, maintaining a respectful distance, then he bowed slightly. "Hello, m' lady."

His accent was viscid, and despite her lack of knowledge of British dialects, she could tell it was not Londonese, too dense and too rushed. It sounded almost rural, as he ate at the vows in his words. Varya gave him a slight nod, unsure of what to say. She had never spoken to a muggle so directly and had never found herself to be so nervous in one's presence.

"Could not 'elp but notice your staring, and I must admit, found it to be quite flattering. The name is William Parker, at your service," he bowed once again, this time making sure his gun was placed on his hip, not on his shoulder. A courteous gesture for a maiden, but Varya was not accustomed to muggle manners, so she only returned the bow awkwardly.

"Varya Petrov," she said, suddenly insecure of her Slavic intonation, which made her English feel butchered compared to the flattering tone of the boy.

"Petrov? Russian name, I see— or Slavic, nonetheless," he continued, cheekily smiling at her as he watched Della approach them again. He bowed to her as well, ignoring the faint blush on the woman's cheeks.

"I am from Romania, actually," she stated, although she knew it was not her actual nationality. She had never looked into that, too scared to see her family history sprawled out in front of her.

The boy frowned, suddenly, and spat at the ground, "Cowardly traitors, they 'ave fought along with the Axis, and 'ave doomed the world. Unfortunate to hear about the bombing, though, and I fear the soviet army will soon make them surrender by force. Your marshal 'as had his time of dictatorship, and the Allies plan to support the royal family in their rise back to power; I have 'eard."

Varya frowned, sending a confused look towards Della, who gave her one of understanding. Had her home been bombed, and she was not even aware of it? Noticing her confusion, William blanched and muttered a string of apologies.