In fact, Abraxas' thougts about the probability of finding Nikita have been right - he hasn't found him. But somebody else has, somebody with mysterious eyes and skin as pale as the moon.

However, Nikita doesn't know that he's found, he doesn't even know that he needs to be found. The Slytherin is consumed by his music, arpeggios stroking his skin, staccatos piercing through it, a tritone making him shiver - there's a reason why it's called the devil's interval after all.

Maybe the foreign presence is nobody but the devil himself with glowing eyes and a cruel smile on his blood-tainted lips, who's come because he's been called, the tritone like blood for a shark, liquor for an alcoholic or immortality for Tom. But why would the devil come to a boy of Nikita's age? To offer him a deal of course, his soul for expression, his tongue for a smile, his heart for passion.

But Nikita's heart is bleeding golden with passion, godly fingers tearing to release it, and Nikita wouldn't trade with the source of the all too long craved product which is offered him, he isn't dumb after all, he isn't in Slytherin to strike a bargain recklessly but to gain benefits others maybe wouldn't because their heart is too pure and the price too high. But Nikita's heart is a wound, ichor's pouring out of it, leeking out through his pores, streaming down his bone-white skin, tinting it in a slightly golden hue, soaking his clothes - Nikita's heart is a wound and his pockets are filled with liquid gold. No price is too high and he's ready to trade.

But there's no contract to sign and no diabolic laugh to hear, there's only the black and white of keys and scores, forever imprinted in his head, and there's music, darker and at the same time richer than any black could ever be.

But it isn't white, it never truly is, it isn't pure enough to shimmer in the colour of clouds and snow and death and angel wings, but the reason is very likely Nikita's choice of pieces to play. Or perhaps the devil's already got a grip on him, innocence for talent.

Because you truly can't play like this without talent, you can't come that far - but he could have gotten even further, the road wouldn't have ended for Nikita yet even thoug it eventually would have because the passion which is filling him so hotly now, filling every single note has been missing.

If you have talent, people will respect you, but if you have passion - emotions -, people will love you and they'll forgive you your mistakes because you're playing with their heartstrings.

Emotions, Nikita, atmosphere! They write your playing is lifeless, boy!

Where's you passion, Nikita? Passion?! Have you never heard of it or what?

Smile, Nikita! Smile and show emotions! Smile, smile, SMILE!

(What a pretty smile you have, my little boy. - Thank you, mama.)

Every endeavour has an end just like every lie and every life and every love, and eventually Nikita's fingers don't move swiftly across the keyboard anymore but lie down on it, devilish cramps nagging on them causing Nikita to hiss in pain but also satisfaction because his flesh wouldn't cry if it hadn't suffered - and Vasili has taught him that practice means suffering.

But even though Nikita hasn't known it, his practice session has been a concert, a performance without his still so familar mask - and even though Nikita isn't bowing, the audience does what it always does after Nikita's finished: It claps.

"Damn, it sounds so strange when only one person's clapping", an unknown voice utters and Nikita jerks around, nearly falling off his piano stool. "But you really deserve it, because, fuck - ugh, sorry -, you playing is amazing. Here you have some more awkard applause."

And because the audience claps, Nikita bows - it's like a reflex which has proven quite fatal after Dippet's speeches because Nikita truly hasn't intended on hitting his head against metal plates. As he hasn't been too keen on getting head aches and strange looks at every feast, Nikita's got rid of this habit but it looks as if the applause of a listener has resurrected it.

"Very professional, I see", the girl jokes with a straight face and Nikita shruggs, his expression stern because he certainly doesn't want to talk about his past now.

"Thanks for the applause and the praise", Nikita says awkardly - it is so strange to talk to somebody who's just listened to you play, expressing your feelings - your core - through music. He feels so naked below her observant, light blue eyes, as if she knew sides and facettes of him nobody else knows, maybe not even himself.

Perhaps this is the reason why his atmospheres have sometimes been lacking and why his tones never truly have resembled porcellain - because Nikita's scared that they'll break it, all of his fine china in pieces and his heart not bleeding because of a blessing god but because of condemning demons.

And he'd still have to smile, because that's what professionals do, even after they've been stabbed with malice and jeer and the knife they've polished with their best fabric, served glistening on a silver tray next to their pounding heart.

"No need to thank me, actually you deserve a lot more", she means, before bowing to show her immense respect and appreciation of his talent and adding: "I'm Eclipsa Dol-Yang by the way."

Of course he knows who she is, after all she's a transfer from some super fancy Asian school, a descendant of the very famous and very pure Dol-Yang family and she's really hard to overlook with her hair, dyed in a greyish shade of blue, always reminding Nikita of the birthday cake his mother's used to bake for him. He hasn't known that she's used magic to colour it but maybe he's tasted the sparkles and swirls because Nikita's been crazy for his birthday cake and no cake has ever tasted as sweet as that strawberry-almond-cake. And no birthday has been giving him the feeling of sticking his head into clouds and laughing with angels since his cake isn't blue anymore, since his cake isn't there anymore - since his mother isn't there anymore.

"I know who you are, we're sharing some classes and your hand is always up in Charms, you're really hard not to notice to be honest. But just in case you've missed my presence", what wouldn't be unusual, "I'm Nikita Vasilyevich Pavlov. And no, I don't sell vodka."

"Dammit - fuck, I've promised myself not to swear that much anymore, I'm sorry... But holy cricket, I've always wanted to drink smuggled vodka in school", Eclipsa sighs. "You've already hurt my self esteem, why also destroy my biggest dream, Pavlov?"

Eclipsa and Nikita've chatted quite a while, finding out both of them play the piano and like sweets (what is a huge plus for Nikita) and because even though the Asian might seem grumpy from the distance, she's actually rather kind (even if she maybe wouldn't like to hear that) so she's shared some of the chocolate which she's been carrying with her with Nikita until he's bid his farewell because "Fuck, it's past midnight!"

While Eclipsa hasn't cared much because the chamber in which the piano's located is near the Ravenclaw tower  and she just has to fly the stairs up, Nikita has to slither all the way down to the dungeons to get in his cosy bed.

Three drunk Slytherin girls arein the common room when Nikita enters and they giggle hysterically when laying their hooded eyes on him, making "oooh" while winking because his hair is messy and his cheeks are red from running.

"Riddle won't be happy to know about that", Walburga Black lilted with an amused glint in the gry lakes of her eyes. "He's sent Malfoy to look for you." The girls errupted into laughter again and nearly knocking over their bottle of firewhiskey.

"Don't you have some alcohol for us?", one of the two brunettes, Tatiana Burke, asks, trying a sexy look but failing miserably. She's just looking too cute for this.

"Tonight I don't want to waste time counting if you're giving me too less money, ladies, I'm sorry." Nikita surpresses a yawn. "I'm really tired as you might notice." And his hands are too tired to make sure that it's enough money anyways - because unlike what he's told Eclipsa, he totally is dealing with smuggled vodka but the rumour's already spreading and he doesn't really want his goods to be confiscated just because somebody's having a loose tongue, so acting as if he was annoyed by the question if he's selling liquor merely because his name tells of his Russian heritage seems quite clever to him.

"But we don't want to stop having fun yet!", Tatiana's twin, Morgana, whines.

"You can have fun without my really good high quality vodka too."

"But it's not the same, baby", Tatiana cries out, while Walburga's longing for the firewhiskey bottle.

"Pavlov", the black-haired female exclaims, "I need some vodka to drown the shame of being a friend of this creature." She blindly points at Tatiana, nearly poking her hazel eyes, while closing hers  and taking a long swig.

"But as said-"

"I'll just give you my whole purse, that will be more than enough and not too less, you greedy bastard", Morgana growls, throwing the heavy purse at Nikita but the alcohol's affected her marksmanship (at least Nikita hopes so, because everything else would be pure evil) and so, Nikita gets hit where it really hurts.

"Hmph", Nikita makes, his voice coloured in pain, laying his hurting hands protectively over the particular, much more hurting area.

"Oh la la", Tatiana chirps, her giggles as clear as glass.

"I haven't payed you for prostitution, now go and bring the good stuff!", Morgana demands grumpily.

"But if he's stripping for free we shouldn't stop him." Walburga winks at Nikita, who merely sighs.

It's always the same with drunk people.

"I'm too tired for all of this, ladies. You'll get the vodka and nothing more." Nikita performs Accio to get both th ample purse and a bottle of vodka out of his trunk, which is charmed in a way that only he can get it because people are sneaky assholes and Nikita doesn't like to be robbed.

"But why don't you get rid of you clothes? It's so hot in here after all?", Tatiana asks confused but she always feels hot when drinking so this isn't anything new to Nikita.

"I'd pay you-", Walburga mumbles, searching in her pockets until she find some coins, "-three knuts!" She grins, the other girls laughing again.

But Nikita isn't dumb after all and he isn't in Slytherin to strike a bargain recklessly but to gain benefits others maybe wouldn't and so he just waves at them while Walburga's drinking the vodka and Morgana the firewhiskey and Tatiana's pouting at all of them, because she isn't getting anything but still waving back at Nikita, who's leaving with more money than all of his goods are worth together.

The gold in his pockets has just turned hard

do you want to come and trade now,

Satan?

Eclipsa belongs to the loml, Lovi, mwah<3 Eclipsa is gonna kick Tommy's ass and I'm sure you don't want to miss this event, so check out her profile and story and everything, she's a goddess, ngl -LOVISDYINGINSIDE