CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The Great Hall had fallen into obscurity, the chandeliers shattering to bits, and the candles wavering into nothingness as Varya Petrov's Obscurus unleashed its violence on everything that surrounded her.

The Ravenclaw table blasted to bits, and the students surrounding it screamed bloody murder as they tried to scramble away in absolute darkness, unsure of what had started the attack.

Felix had stood closest to Varya, and had managed to protect himself by jumping to the side as soon as her scream had filled the room, casting a shield around the students that had had the unfortunate luck of sitting at the Ravenclaw table.

In the darkness, few people managed to see Varya's non-corporeal form. As soon as the shift had happened, the Obscurus had flown through one of the windows and outside into the courtyard, dancing amongst the darkness of night, seeking out a way to bring chaos into the castle and eradicate it.

That is all it took for Tom to get up to his feet, and between the mess of shrieking students, he managed to signal the Knights to follow him, wands drawn, and eyes enlarged as they pushed their way to the main entrance. The Slytherin prefect caught a glimpse of the teacher table, quickly casting a night vision charm, and saw the utter bewilderment on their faces. Everyone except Albus Dumbledore, who met his gaze in a lock of mistrust and apprehension, yet made no move to stop the seven devils from running outside.

The wind scourged against Riddle's face, a tornado of crisis and armageddon, and his curls tangled as shrewd marine eyes trailed the horizon with phenomenon. He flickered his gaze to Icarus Lestrange, whose skin had turned to snow— cold and drained— and quivering fingers gripped the wand in fear. Fear, yes, but not for himself, only for Varya's safety.

It was almost odious how much he cared, and it puzzled Tom, as the girl had been transparent in her intentions with the Lestrange heir. The Slytherin prefect turned away with rage, feeling as if the other boy was stepping in on his territory, trying to protect something that did not belong to Icarus.

"The Forbidden Forest," declared Abraxas Malfoy as he turned to face Tom, "That is our best bet."

Seven pairs of feet clashed against the ground in rapid motions, carrying their bodies to the dark woods that stood on Hogwarts' estate, and as they approached the terrain, they felt the wind strengthen. Elladora gripped the trees tightly, trying to get her body to keep going against the strong current, before quickly moving her wand in rapid motions and cutting the zephyr to advance. Maxwell had cast his own charm, one that redirected the breeze to pass him, and had instructed the rest to do the same.

They continued into the forest until they reached a wooded area that had been shivered to bits, and carcasses of a few animals lay scattered around as if something had dropped a nuclear bomb on the surroundings.

Varya's body hung in the air, surrounded by swirls of darkness and mist, eyes as white as the Heavens, yet they belonged to no angel, and as soon as their presence had been felt, a whip of blackness made to decapitate at least one Knight, yet they all threw themselves back in absolute astonishment. Her form had changed to a corporeal one, yet it vibrated and flickered in and out, a red light surrounding her body.

"Bloody hell," muttered Avery, then quickly cast the others a look of uncertainty. They needed to get the girl to calm down; otherwise, she would soon wreck the whole school. He glanced around at the trees that had been outrooted and thrown to the sides, a graveyard of Nature and being, and puffed his cheeks in frustration, "Now what?".

"You take her down," ordered Tom, voice apathetic as his eyes fell on Varya, and his chest twisted with fascination and longing, before he shook it away and narrowed his eyes, "But do not harm her."

"You just told us to take her down," questioned Abraxas, eyebrow hoisted in confusion. He could sense something odd in his leader, and he was unsure how he felt about it.

"You fight an Obscurus by two things— overwhelm them with magic, or have someone they trust calm them down. Now, I doubt anyone here has done much to gain Petrov's trust, so you better use those years of training."

With that, the boy set to motion, and he sprinted to a tree near the girl's levitating body, and with a glance at his followers, he sent them into action. It was Nicholas Avery that moved first, and his stealthy moves had him covering a tremendous amount of ground, before he propelled himself into the air, and then sent a wave of fire daggers toward the Eastern witch.

They were immediately engulfed by Varya's magic, and a sinister smile danced on her face before she blasted the boy's body to the side, sending him rolling until he hit a tree trunk. Nicholas groaned at the feeling, scrunching his eyes before scrambling to his feet.

He tried again, this time sending a sound wave to discompose the Obscurus, knowing that magic functioned on frequencies. He watched in pleasure as Varya let out a demonic shriek, covering her ears as the sound rattled her brain, yet when her eyes opened with malevolence, it only took one hand move to splatter the boy against the ground. Avery's leg twisted underneath him, and he knew that he had been injured.

Elladora was next, and her eyes set in a caustic look before she pulled out her poisoned arrows. With a flick of a hand, she conjured a bow made of magic traces, almost as if lightning had taken a corporeal form, and she set one arrow on the string before pulling it back with one hand. Cherry hair blew in the torrent of the Obscurus, and cardinal lips smirked before the first shot was released, and the arrow zoomed through the air, gashing through magic and darkness.

Even so, Varya accomplished to redirect it entirely, then her body swirled in the air, and the Obscurus slashed through the trees as it tried to evade the charmed weapons. Selwyn growled, and then ran through the branches, chasing down the magical creature and plucking the string of her bow repeatedly, sending arrows to trace its way as it destroyed everything in its path.

The poison would immediately immobilize the girl, as the arrows were traced with chimera venom, yet the Obscurus managed to redirect all of them and shelter the host body.

"Watch out!" is all the Slytherin pure-blood heard before a heavy branch collided against her petite frame, and Elladora screamed as she felt one of her ribs break in her abdomen, eyes watering at the painful stab.

Icarus was by her side in a matter of seconds, and he glanced at her broken frame with worry, unsure what to do, before the girl sneered at him, "Go after her!".

The boy nodded, then trained honey eyes on the path of rumbles, and he continued the chase. Waves of dark clouds clashed against the sky, and the moonlight reduced itself to nothing but a reminiscent of what it used to be, covering the forest in absolute black. Icarus cursed himself as he stopped in one of the clearings, wand pointed at nothing in particular, and he spun around, trying to spot the girl.

Then, a cold hand touched his shoulder. He was twisted to face Varya's absolute madness, eyes void of any human emotion, and Lestrange gulped nervously. Her hand flew to his neck, and she raised his body in the air as he struggled to scratch at her fingers to release their tight grip.

His legs kicked around as the girl choked him, and his judgment clouded. Spots filled his vision as the air slowly left his system, and in a last effort to preserve himself, he flicked his wand, and he brought down lightning, electrifying the girl.

Petrov's screech filled the forest, and she threw his figure to the side as she fought against the electricity that spasmed her body. Her Obscurus slashed against the ground in agony, sending boulders against her surroundings, and Maxwell Nott barely managed to cast a shield around himself before it collided against him.

With trembling hands and unfocused eyes, the boy wiped the sweat of anxiety that had settled in his eyebrows— he was no trained fighter, and this would surely not end well. Regardless, he sought out the bravery in his heart, and with a flick of a wrist, he sent out two boulders against the girl. Varya raised her hand, angered beyond wits by Icarus' previous spell, and obliterated the rocks, having pebbles cover the clearing.

"Maxwell, back down!" yelled Icarus as he jumped back to his feet, and then he conjured a lash of magic from his wand and sent it against Petrov's body, grabbing her foot and dragging her to the ground. Nott took this as an opportunity to send a spell of water, and it carried a typhoon against the witch, knocking her against the rocky edge of a mountain that stood behind them.

Varya roared with fury, and then sent ripples of blackness to clatter the mountain, having an avalanche of rocks come down on the three of them. Lestrange jogged to Maxwell immediately and pushed him out of harm right as the stones came down on him. And then, it seemed as if Icarus disappeared under their weight completely.

The night stilled, and dust rose in the air from the avalanche, creating a thick blanket through the clearing that had Nott's eyes watering. Stars flashed down on the forest as they shouted out for Icarus' name, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

Nott gasped as his figure fell to the grass-covered floor, and then teary eyes glanced at where Icarus had just stood— but there was nothing there. Only a sea of boulders that would have surely crushed his body to bits. A weak hand flew to his mouth, and Maxwell bit back a sob of grief. His head had bashed against the ground too hard, and his temple had split open, as well as his lip.

"No, no, no! Where did he go?" Elladora Selwyn cried out as she limped to Nott, one hand over Abraxas' shoulder as he carried her to the mess of dust, and her outcry of agony sent a wave of crows against the sky as she fell to her knees, clutching her shirt as tears fell down her cheeks in fluctuations.

She screamed Icarus' name into the void, yet nothing answered, and Malfoy settled her to the ground as her soul-splitting cries filled the forest.

Her world collapsed in on itself, and for the first time in forever, the Selwyn heir had loyalty and compassion pulsate to her being as she stared with lustrous eyes at the spot where her childhood love had surely perished. The fire of grief blazed her being, and the witch went numb from anguish and torment, spluttering the boy's name as she gripped the grass and dug her nails in the soil.

And she remembered their moments, she recalled how her love for him had been the light to her being, and regardless of the envy and emptiness that it had brought, it had metastasized Elladora into the woman she was today. She had loved him with intent, with a burn like any other, and had watched Icarus fall for another person.

But it had been enough because his luminous smile had erased all traces of worry, and where Elladora could not make him happy, perhaps, someone else could. Yet, Varya had broken his heart, had treated him poorly, and that had had the Selwyn heir act out rashly against her roommate.

Warm arms wrapped around her, clutching her being to a muscular chest, and tangerine filled her senses as she sobbed into whoever was holding her. Then, a soft hand pushed her hair aside, and Elladora's eyes opened to glance into Icarus' honey ones.

"I am quite all right," he said softly, and then he held one small object against the rays of moonlight that broke through the clouds.

A golden coin.

There was no time for any words to be exchanged, as the ground blew to bits, and Varya's Obscurus soared to the sky, standing against the sea of stars and clouds with a menacing threat. The mischievous smile still etched on the girl's face, she snapped her arms to the sky, and a tsunami of black mist sounded the ground as it drove its way to the Knights.

It was Abraxas that acted first, and his raven suit rumpled as he drove one hand into the air, making the boulders surround their figures and protect them from the dark magic that destroyed everything in its way. Sweat dripped down the side of his face as he fought to keep the barrier against the strong display of magic, and he only let it fall once the sound of the hurricane died down, and exposed them to Varya's macabre figure yet again.

Renold Rosier had barely managed to stumble into the clearing, eyes uncertain as he looked up at Varya with a perplexed gaze. He did not want to harm her, yet he knew they had to exhaust her magic, or else she would bring Hell Fire down on the castle.

He waved his wand in the air, then branches of trees extended themselves and clasped at Varya's limbs, momentarily immobilizing her as she struggled against his hold. He ran quickly, the stones forming steps under his feet, and then he neared her body with apprehension.

"You have to stop right now," he yelled over the absolute roaring of her torrent, but she continued to grapple like a caged animal against the branches before ripping her arms from them. Her raven hair flowed around her in fast motions, and then everything seemed to slow down as she glanced at Rosier with lunatic eyes.

A sneer graced her face, and then she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Goodbye."

With that, Ren was catapulted into the air, and his throat burned as he screamed in fright right before his body collided against one of the trees, snapping his arm to bits, and the bone punctured through flesh as sanguine spit on the surroundings, damaging Abraxas' suit. He fell to the ground with a whimper, and Nott managed to run to him and clasp his face.

"Stay calm," Maxwell muttered quickly, trying his best to charm the bone back in, yet it only slashed the flesh further, as medical spells were not his speciality, "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Icarus!"

The handy boy was by his side immediately, and blue light danced from his palms as he placed them against Ren's cold skin, trying to drown out the young boy's painful cries as he pushed the bone back into its place before sealing the wound. It would still be broken until Elladora could give them the bone healing potion, but at least there would be no infection.

Tom Riddle and Nicholas Avery pushed through the line of trees, and the Dark Lord frowned as he saw the girl still standing high and mighty. He knew everyone was expecting him to battle her, yet after failing to use the Killing Curse on the Petrov witch, the boy had grown terrified— what if he could no longer fight her?

"Riddle, you need to go against her too," spluttered Nott, "We all have to."

Sighing in discontent, Tom strode over to the middle of the clearing, right before Varya's form as it rose against the midnight sky, watching him with apprehension. And he saw it, he saw the flicker of raven in her eyes at his presence, and he gulped slowly before raising his wand.

"Stop this, Varya," his voice thundered against the sonorous whirring of the wind, and his locks flew to the sides as it only intensified when the girl heard his voice.

"You killed her," she screeched, and then a whip of darkness made to lash against Tom's body, yet he immobilized it with an exhausting spell, fighting against the natural power of the Obscurus.

He stayed silent, not accepting, nor denying, and then with an intricate motion of hands, he performed a simple sigil he had seen the girl do many times. Varya felt the magic surge from her body, and she fought with rigor against his spell that attempted to block her sorcerer channels. Then, her body exploded into a rage of dark and black and terror, and it struck against Riddle's frame, launching him into the air before he fell against the mess of sharp rocks.

Tom hissed in pain as he felt a stabbing injury in his arm, and he glanced to his side, where one rock had perforated his forearm, sending gushes of blood against his sweater. His tissues had opened to the soil, and a piece of flesh and skin hung from the wound. He closed his eyes at the sight of his fatality, and bit down on his lip to prevent the loud curse that threatened to spill as his mind spun to insanity. It was becoming too much— failure, blood, death, torture.

And then the faint smell of Varya radiated from the sweater he was wearing, and it was a gentle stroke against the wall of agony that fenced his brain, pushing against the barricade as little soldiers of sorrow tried to annihilate the light. Riddle blinked lethargically, then opened his eyes to the night sky, and everything plummeted to darkness as the clouds covered the yonder. His head bobbed to the side, and he watched the river of red trail between the stones and into the ground.

They all went back to the ground at some point, did they not? But no, he would not. He could not.

He pushed himself up with a groan and watched as Varya's Obscurus pulverized the trees to their left in rage, and the clouds cackled as lightning covered the sky in intricate webs of golden and white. The sound of thunder vibrated through matter and being, and rain poured down on everything owned by mankind and dampened Nature in a puddle of ruins and mortality.

Tom pulled the rock out of his arm, then threw the sanguine colored stone to the side, and turned to face his followers as they stood against the line of trees, resolve and power in their eyes— a line of young soldiers that had pledged loyalty to the Lord of Darkness and Despair.

Nicholas Avery stood on one foot, the other having been broken during collision, and his face twisted in pain as drenched locks covered his forehead. Yet he burned of slyness and wrath, and he stepped by Tom's side, needing no call to action.

Abraxas Malfoy was next— intact, yet blood had splattered against his immaculate appearance, and for the first time, he seemed less like a collected creature and more like a vengeful human. With quick steps, he took Riddle's right side, eyes hardened as he glanced at the girl that had surrounded herself with darkness.

With dragged feet, Elladora joined them, hand still clutching Icarus' shirt as the two stepped by the other three Knights, and she glanced up at her friend's face to see the turmoil in his eyes. He still loved Varya, he probably always would, and it pained him to see her break as such.

Maxwell managed to support Rosier's figure, and his bloodied face turned to the Obscurus as it continued to wreck against the mountain, trying to destroy it and send it crashing against the castle's wall. He gulped nervously and glanced at Ren as the boy struggled to figure out what he was supposed to do, mind still messed from the pain.

The seven of them stood in one line, the wave of wind slashing against their bruised and dust-covered faces as they watched the girl they had tormented for months finally unleash her powers against them. Rain poured down on their figures as they stared in the face of their apocalypse.

Then, one by one, they all raised their wands, holding them against the sky before they drove them down, bringing a flash of color down as their powers merged into one, and it hit Varya Petrov right in the chest. A combination of seven different capacities, all different in constitution and intensity, and yet they fell into a ballet of efficacy and vigor, a force of nature. And they were the order that would crumble the world.

Lightning struck the forest again as the Knights of Walpurgis' magic soared through the air, ripping at atoms and clashing frequencies, and one beam of dark light hit the Obscurus as it trashed madly in the sky.

Varya's screech filled the night, and her eyes flickered from white to onyx as the magic overwhelmed her senses, and her darkness fought against the light of the seven Knights.

An explosion of black erupted, and Abraxas brought the shield up yet again and raised them above the ground as it fissured and broke apart, and trees and rocks fell into nothingness. He stared down at the void between the floor, and something in him chilled over, almost as if he could hear Hell finally calling for them to repay for their crimes.

Varya's shape spasmed, and then, with one final move, it started plummeting to the ground head-first as the Obscurus retracted itself into her body. Tom jumped from the stone edge Malfoy had risen, and he ran until he caught her from the air, sending them both to the ground.

He groaned as he felt his arm twitch at the strenuous move, and his nerve exploded with agony as he held Varya's unconscious form and carried it back to the group, where all had sullen expressions on their faces.

"She is not..." Rosier trailed off, still clutching his head as the pain continued to persist.

"No," the Lord's voice was final, and he glanced at Varya's face with a disgustingly soft gaze before collecting himself, "Only knocked out. Varya will be fine."

He placed her body on the ground, then ordered Avery to take off his cape before putting it underneath her head and letting her recover as he discussed with his Knights.

They were all watching him, perplexed by his uncharacteristic gestures, yet something told them Tom was no longer the tyrant he had once been. Still dark, still demonic, still a psychopath, yet something had shifted, and Riddle was finally maturing into the dark leader they expected him to be and overcoming his impulsive and childish rage storms.

"What now?" asked Malfoy, scrubbing at his jacket with irritation on his features. His eyes were periwinkle blue, lighter than Tom's, yet they carried some sort of anxiety as he continued to pick at his clothes eagerly.

Tom thought deeply, unsure of what to tell them. The scene, although it had happened in the darkness, would surely raise enough questions from students, and Varya would undoubtedly be obliged to leave Hogwarts as soon as exams were over. With the looming threat of Ivy's death, Hogwarts would indeed close for the summer, and the future would become blank— a canvas ready for painting.

"The year is ending," his voice boomed through the forest, and resolved marine eyes trained on his acolytes as he spoke with an imperial voice, "This incident will send Petrov out of the school, and with Trouche's death, it is beyond doubt that the school will close. As summer passes by, we regroup at the Malfoy Manor, and we do what we have always done— we scheme, we plot, we manipulate. Nothing has changed as far as our cause is concerned, and between now and next year, I will create my first Horcrux."

He tried not to glance at Varya; he tried not to let the doubt slip through his mind. No, he had to keep his path. Tom would achieve great things, and with Petrov gone, the possibilities were endless.

Yet, his soul twisted, and it felt as if he was losing part of himself with her. But it had to be done, and his affection had to be barricaded between high walls until he achieved his ultimate goal— immortality. Then, only after such a task was completed, could he ever bring himself to reunite with her, and they would reign together over the wizarding world if they so desired.

"Riddle," rasped Elladora, before coughing as she felt the rib push against her lung, "Her necklace— she has a Horcrux."

Selwyn was unsure of why she had said it. Perhaps, it was her loyalty to Tom, or maybe it was her awareness that the boy would know that Varya would share his fate regardless of what would happen.

"Is that so?" smirked Tom, and he kneeled before the Eastern witch's fallen body before grasping the chain on her neck. Indeed, he felt the magic pulsating against his skin, and he was beyond pleased with the circumstances. She would be safe outside of Hogwarts.

"What of Trouche?" asked Rosier suddenly, who was still confused about what had happened, "Did you truly kill her?"

Their leader picked up Varya once again, and then he began walking towards the woods and out of the clearing, knowing that it was best she be delivered to Dumbledore before she woke up. He glanced down at her face, and fought back the warmth that pooled in his being with repugnance. Weakness. Flaw. Mortality. His eyes snapped back up, and with a guttural voice, he spoke over his shoulders.

"No, I did not."

***

Two hours. Varya had let him be tortured in the Ravenclaw Salon for two hours, watching his blood slip in and out of his system until his mind broke. He had gone animalistic against the chair, spasming and fighting against the mental grip she had placed him in until his whole garments had drenched in sweat, and his body had gone numb with exhaustion.

The curse would not even let him close his eyes, nor turn his head away. No, he was doomed to watch everything, to feel the terror of being on the verge of death over and over and over and over again.

Two hours, yet it had felt like years.

Tom marched through the Hogwarts hallway with vengeance on his mind, and his hands were on his wand as he clasped it in his robe. There was an odd taste in his mouth, metallic, and it drove him to the point of breaking.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Della Beauchamp run through the hallways, almost as if she was late to meeting someone, and a sadistic smirk fell on his face. He waited by the window, then watched her dash through the gardens like a headless chicken— unsuspecting, awaiting, and completely oblivious.

He wondered, then, how he should do it. The basilisk had not been released fully, and with Arthur Thompson coming back to Hogwarts after the mandrake potion had cured him, there was enough time for another attack before the year would end. Yet how would he cover it? Dumbledore had already started suspecting him, and it was only a matter of time before he would begin to keeping an annoyingly close watch on the Slytherin prefect.

Moreover, something told Riddle that killing the muggle-born witch would not satisfy him, and as much as he desired to get retaliation on the Eastern girl, murdering her closest friend would surely destroy her. He was not sure if he still wanted that.

Succumbed to his train of thought, Tom did not notice that he had lost track of the Beauchamp girl, and in her place was now standing Ivy Trouche, who had also seen Della wandering around. The Slytherin male prefect frowned at their odd behavior, as students did not usually saunter the estate at such odd hours, and something told him to follow Ivy.

So he stepped outside into the pleasant breeze of a May night, and stepped to where he had last seen the girl, mind twirling as he tried to find a reason for her disappearance. His legs took him to one of the courtyards, right by the Astronomy Tower, and he glanced around in dismay as to where they had both disappeared.

Indeed, Della must have gone back inside, as she had not been outside when Tom had glanced out of the window, yet Trouche would still be around. She was a sly one, and as athletic as she was, there was no possibility of her having gone back so quickly.

Then, a shadow trodded on the ground, almost as if a monster had risen from the horizon, and Tom pivoted on his feet to glance at the Astronomy Tower, where Slytherin's Golder Girl stood on the margin, shaking her head fiercely as her sobs filled the air.

"Please—please, I saw nothing!" her voice quivered as she fell to her knees, and Riddle saw the black hooded figure that stood in front of her, delicate hand shaking as it clutched a wooden wand, "You do not have to do this, I can just turn away and I— Please, I have so much ahead of me."

The girl scrambled to her feet immediately, backing up slowly as the feminine figure approached her tentatively, and then the person spoke in a brittle voice, "Do you not understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you...or he is going to kill me."

Ivy covered her face as she continued to cry, and Tom watched her form as it stood against the moon— golden, youthful, pure. She had been the definition of everything he despised, a girl that had been brought up through love and power, and regardless of her strict parents, she had achieved everything she wanted.

Many said that she was to be Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team next year, and on her way to becoming Head Girl. She was the epitome of their House, and many believed her to be proof that not all Slytherins were evil. No, some were like Ivy Trouche— formidable students who strove against all odds, who stopped at nothing to achieve their goals, and yet lead groups with vigor and grace.

They had all denounced her, the Knights, and it had been so ever since their first years at Hogwarts. Tom had tried to pull her to their cause, but Ivy wanted no part in it. She did not care for blood purity as much as the rest, and above all, the witch was a one-woman storm. Ivy had never needed anyone, and that was an insult to them.

The figure approached her, and that is when Ivy, in her utter panic, finally let her foot slip off of the tower's edge, and her body collapsed over the railing. Her scream filled the night, and her body plummeted to the ground, where it splattered against the pavement in a mess of organs and tissue.

Tom flinched at the sonance, and for a second, he stood mineralized in his spot, unsure what to do. Then, a thought occurred in his mind— this was his key. If he made Varya believe that he had been the one to murder Ivy, then the girl would finally break all ties with him, and the disgusting fluttering in his stomach would disappear, would it not? It would be replaced by emptiness, by agony at her absence, and then Tom would finally feel whole again.

With small steps, he made way to the cadaver, and even he— the Dark Lord— had to turn his face away for a second. Her skull had broken completely, and now blood pooled on the stone floor, dirtying his shoes that Malfoy had just cleaned up. Her arm was twisted at an odd angle, and her elbow had broken through skin, bruising her pale figure as red started to push against her epidermis and gather.

The haematic liquid spluttered from her lips as the girl choked on it, and perhaps the most horrifying thing was that she was not dead, but on the verge of it.

"Riddle," she rasped, voice muffled as she struggled to breathe, and Tom sighed as he took in her broken frame.

Her spine must have collapsed as well by the peculiar form she had taken, and her chest moved up and down slowly as her last breaths came in.

The boy glanced at her scared expression, and he knew. He knew what she was asking— put her out of her misery. Survival was not possible anymore, and no potion would cure her injuries fast enough to keep her alive. But the pain was temporary, and the sooner death came, the lesser the girl would suffer.

"Please," was the last word she managed to croak out before her whole mouth filled with blood, and perhaps something had perforated her lung, and her eyes glazed over as the Golden Girl pleaded with the slightest vigor she had left.

To Tom Riddle, the scene was beautiful, poetic even— a woman of such qualities succumbing to mortality, an aureate being filled with possibility and a future that would have sparkled like a burning apollo. Yet Death had taken it all from her, had crushed her body like a cockroach. Now there would be no Ivy Trouche to lead the Slytherin House to victory, no Ivy Trouche to help Varya find herself amongst Hogwarts' walls, no Ivy Trouche to scold the first years when they became too noisy in the Common Room.

As a fellow prefect, Tom had been around her often enough to believe that Slytherin never quite fitted her well. No, Ivy had been a Lion at heart, and the boy had found himself wondering at times why the Sorting Hat had not sent her to Gryffindors, with the rest of those he despised above all. Perhaps, it was her bloodline, or maybe the girl had asked the hat to put her in such House. Regardless, she had worn silver and green with pride, and had been a girl that defeated the odds.

Her fingers twitched by her side, and the agony danced in her eyes as Tom watched her slip away, contemplating on what to do. The scene reminded him of the one in Albania, where he had saved the little girl's body from the collapsing mine, and he wondered why such actions of mercy suddenly crossed his mind. But part of him knew. He knew it was because of Varya, and that made his blood boil.

Then, the boy finally raised his wand and pointed it at her chest, and his lips parted as he muttered the words, unsure of whether it would work.

"Avada Kedavra."

Green flashed across the yard, and his robes ruffled as the curse hit Ivy, and her eyes finally glazed over as Death welcomed her into its arms. The boy gulped as he stared at her body, and then a thought pounded at his skull.

He had used the Killing Curse successfully. Yet, it seemed that it had not worked against Varya Petrov, and what did that mean to him? If there was still enough darkness to murder another student, then why could he not even say the words for the Eastern witch? It seemed that his rules of existence did not apply to her, and that perplexed him.

The sanguine liquid continued to trail on the pavement, and Tom scrunched his nose before stepping aside and trying to get it off of his shoes, knowing that he could not leave a trail behind. The sight of Ivy Trouche's corpse irritated him, and he felt the need to look away from the inconvenience.

So, he glanced up, and that was the moment the hooded figure decided to peek over the edge, hair falling softly around the refined face as troubled eyes glanced at the mess below. And that is when Tom recognized the person, and his lips pulled in a sinister smirk.

Della's eyes flashed to his, and the tears on her face seemed to dry as she kept the gaze lock, body not moving an inch in horror. Then, Tom inclined his head in wonder, and the girl breathed slowly.

They stood against the night scenery, wind ruffling their clothes as pained irises glanced at curious ones, and their secrets slipped through cracks as the faintest whisper of instability threatened to drive both of them mad.

The odor of death hung into the air, and they both turned around to head their ways, each a different person than they had been before.

***

Bye this chapter is not what I wanted it to be but whatever. Anyhow, thank you for all of your comments, votes, and support!