the seven devils [completed]

chapter twenty-seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

As soon as they had reached the train, Varya had been swarmed by Ministry officials, barking in hurried French, interrogating her on what had happened. She barely spoke the language, but she did catch on a few words such as "dark magic", and a few profanities— it seemed as if they were suspecting her. She swung at them, pointing to the half-dead boy hanging off of her neck, and it was then that they gave up persecuting the girl.

They had gone back on the train, and it took a few hours for the officials to clean up the mess before it resumed its journey. The occasional officer passed by her compartment, an accusatory glance sent her way, but she paid no mind to them, her spirit focused on the limp body of Icarus Lestrange.

He had lost much blood, and Varya was no physician, but she knew that was a dilemma. His skin was pale as the flakes that tumbled from the azure, and she tried her best to mend his torn cheek fully, alternating between spells and cold compresses on his forehead. He had acquired a fever, his body fighting against the strain the creature had caused, and Varya was genuinely concerned. Eventually, there was nothing more the girl could do, and so she sat next to him, his head in her lap, and stroked his whiskey locks that had been drenched in perspiration.

He would recover, that was what she hoped, but he would always have the scar to prove the tale, and in a way, he would always have something that reminded him of her, and that was something she could not face just yet.

She knew it was her fault; she could not explain how or why, but there was this staggering sensation that told her she was the cause of all this madness. And now Icarus had paid for it, and Varya wondered how many more would follow suit.

The girl was fatigued, and she tried her best to stay awake for the rest of the night, eyelids almost fluttering shut, but she had to watch over the boy— there was no time to rest, not until his fever broke.

The rest of the journey took three hours, and when the train pulled in Gare Saint-Lazare, a sigh of comfort escaped Varya's lips. She cast a charm, helping Icarus' body levitate, as well as all of their bags, then stepped out on the wizarding platform. Around her, sorcerers stole inquisitive glances at the two Hogwarts students, so tortuously foreign and peculiar, but nobody approached them.