THE ANATOMY OF ABRAXAS MALFOY - THE RIGHT HAND

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

If there was a generic statement that could apply to Slughorn, it was that he desired to surround himself with polished, bright minds— to create the illusion of aristocracy and intellect around him. Much like a dragon would, the Professor would accumulate everything golden that sat behind a desk in his classes, and bring it to his cave to parade it around.

Even so, Varya was surprised at the alumni that he had convinced to attend his Christmas party. Some of them had reached extraordinary ranks in the Ministry or had become renowned healers at St. Mungo's Hospital, but the character that completely stole the show was Newton Scamander.

He stood amongst the students, every pair of eyes on him, and he awkwardly avoided their gazes, shifting from one leg to another beside Slughorn. His henna colored hair was as rumpled as always, and he was the same man Varya had seen in every wizarding newspaper over the past few months. He had an oddly large vest, fitted over a white dress shirt, and his yellow tie had him stand as the lonesome Hufflepuff in the room. He was charming in his own peculiar way.

In his presence, the emblem-craved buttons that rested on Varya's sleeves felt more onerous, and she felt her arms hide behind her back as the powerful wizard circled the room, head slowly bowing at the students he passed.

Eventually, Slughorn ended up in front of Varya, Tom, and Malfoy, face already reddened by the select wine that was being served. "Ah! Some of my finest students, Scamander, you ought to meet them! This is Abraxas Malfoy; I believe you have heard the name. And, of course, Tom Riddle! He is Hogwarts' star, and many believe him to be a safe-guess for our next Minister of Magic."

"You flatter me, Professor," said Tom gallantly, then extended his hand to Newt Scamander, who stared at him before his eyes drifted to his hand, clasping it and shaking it briefly. "A pleasure to meet you, sir. Your heroism against Grindelwald is praised by many. We all hope that his dark reign will cease soon and that greater things are to come."

Varya did not miss the premonition in his timbre, the subtle way his voice denoted arrogance, and she wanted to roll her eyes at his appalling behavior. However, her gaze was trained on Scamander, and she watched with trepidation as Slughorn gestured to her.

"And this is Varya—" his words died on his lips, ultimately realizing the gravity of his mistake. Slughorn's hand flew to the back of his head, slightly scratching it as he scanned the room for an escape.

Varya looked Newt in the eye, resentment growing stronger with each second, then extended her hand delicately, gaze glistening with a lynx's pride, "Petrov, Varya Petrov."

Recognition flickered across the wizard's face as he took her hand and shook it awkwardly, then cleared his throat to relieve the tension. "As in Cornelius and Lyudmila Petrov?" he asked, and the judgment in his voice was telling.

"Exactly that, I am afraid," Varya answered with a smile, but her voice was as monotonous as possible. She did not know what she should feel towards the man, a conflict between gratitude and loathing, but right now, Varya was only empty. She stared at the man that had fought against her parents, who had, in some way, led to their demise and had cursed her with a life of misfortune. At that moment, Newton Scamander was no savior of the wizarding world, and she could not bring herself to be thankful for his actions.

"Fascinating," he mused, almost to himself, as if the rest of them were not even present. "Dumbledore did tell me that a Petrov witch was attending Hogwarts yet again, but I did not pay much mind to it at the time. You resemble your mother."

"Do I?" Varya said stiffly. "I would not know."

Of course, she suspected Newt would have attended Hogwarts at the same time as her parents, and would therefore know much more about them than her. And yet, his alliance had not shown any mercy when they were captured.

The silence that followed was syrupy, and Varya heard Abraxas Malfoy draw in an audible breath beside her, before taking a step forward. "Professor, I believe Mister Scamander would enjoy your magical tapestry, have you seen it?"

With that, the two older wizards made their way to the other end of the room, and for the first time since her arrival, Varya felt grateful for Malfoy's existence. Over the past few weeks, she had learned that while Malfoy was much more elusive than the rest of Tom's followers, he was also his most trusted companion.

The boy had natural defiance to him, something she had realized from the first day they had met, and commanded respect wherever he went. After all, the mere Malfoy name was enough to settle dread in the bravest hearts, a family so ancient and powerful that few dared defy them. Malfoy had a leading capability, and would often take over the reins when Tom would busy himself with other affairs.

On multiple occasions, it had been Abraxas that would deliver Varya the messages Tom would send her about their vacation plans, and it was also him who had given her somewhat of a background run on the families that would be attending.

She watched their backs retreat gracefully, then turned towards Tom, whose eyes were filled with intrigue. As always, he was a remarkable sight to look at, lips slightly parted and eyes mystified as he thought deeply.

"Sometimes, I forget you are the poster child for Grindelwald's crimes."

Varya scoffed at him, grabbing a wine glass from a passing tray and lifting it to her lips, "Thank you, Riddle, such lovely words you always mutter."

Tom hummed, then turned to watch the people in the room with a shrewd gaze. Varya could tell by the way that he was bitting his inner cheek that he was scheming, so Janus-faced it was almost repulsive. She could not understand how people could not see through his facade, but then again, had she not fallen for it as well in some way? Or, perhaps, it was precisely the fact that she could see his true form that captivated her, so entranced by the depravity between the Adonic face and luscious curls. He was a paradoxical being, the kind of inscrutability you would only read about in books, and it made him a complicated amalgam of runes that Varya wanted to translate.

"You should pester Scamander for information on Grindelwald," he said, suddenly, looking at her with determination alight in his azure eyes. Varya gave him an incredulous look, and so he scoffed, "He knows what is going on on the Ministry's side; he can give us a different perspective."

"What makes you think he will want to talk to me?" asked Varya, unsure of his suggestion. Scamander had not seemed pleased with her presence, although he had not made it obvious, she could tell from his reluctance to talk to her directly.

"Curiosity" was the answer he received. "He will also be suspicious of your loyalty, and he will try to talk you into aligning yourself with them."

"I am not interested in joining any side, I prefer my brooding grayness," she admitted, not enjoying the idea of having to promise her loyalty in exchange for information. To her, the less involved she was, the better. She already had one sociopath to deal with.

"He does not know that," Tom said, suddenly stepping away from her. Then, he turned halfway to look at her over his shoulder. "Keep it that way."

Varya watched him walk away, and up to a woman she recognized from the Daily Prophet as Amelia Skeeter, and she felt her blood boil at the sight. She was in her twenties, perhaps, and her cheeks reddened at the attention of a young, handsome boy such as Riddle. Her charmed pen flew around her eagerly, and then it started scribbling down every enchanting word that passed Tom's lips.

Varya had not expected him to be much of a date, to take her dancing or engage in small talk over a glass of refined champagne, but he had barely spent a few minutes in her presence before turning away. Not only that, but he was also trying to involve her in something she was not sure she wanted to be part of.

But what could the girl even do? She had to gain his trust somehow; she had to make herself part of his circle of followers if she wanted ever to have a grasp on his mind. Right now, he was as intangible as ever, a wall of stone, and Varya doubted he cared for anything except his conquest. 

Was she just like the rest? Had she fallen for his manipulation and charm? She should have been angry at him, should have raised Hell because of what he had done, and yet she could not bring herself to harm the boy. She had threatened Elladora, Avery, and had even hexed Malfoy the first time she had the occasion, and yet Tom was beyond her reach.

To take down a king, you first have to play the game of chess.

Because of that reason, she found herself making her way to the end of the room, where Malfoy was still talking about the odious tapestry on the wall, gesturing half-heartedly to the creatures he did not quite know.

"And this dragon, uh, the Norwegian Ridgeback—" he said, scratching his chin as he tried to describe the mighty monster.

"Actually," intervened Varya, slowly advancing toward, "it is a Romanian Longhorn, you can tell by its horns, a number of two, and the slyhterian color of his scales. Quite impressive beasts, I had the opportunity to train with them in the Carpathian mountains."

Newt Scamander turned towards her, eyebrow raised at her knowledge, then back at the tapestry, and nodded. "Yes, I quite agree with Miss Petrov."

"Ah, I see—" said Malfoy, a pitiful pretense of intrigue on his face. "Well, then, I will leave you to it. A pleasure, sir."

Abraxas headed off, but not before giving Varya a knowing look, and walked towards another party attendee to make idle chatter. The girl turned, her emerald dress dragging at the ground, and faced the wizard with the hair of flames.

"You said you trained with them?" he suddenly asked, eyebrows frowned as he continued to look at the image. "I never quite had the pleasure, the Carpathian mountains have not been on my list of recent travels, despite the fact that I have been told they hold many wonderful beings."

"Dark beings," she corrected, "Not your average fantastic beasts, they are demons more than magical creatures."

"Your knowledge of them is quite broad, are you interested in Magizoology?" he asked her, finally meeting her darkened eyes.

Varya was taken aback by his statement. She had never considered her interests, although perhaps it was time for her to do so. With dread, the girl realized she had no idea what she wanted to do after graduation.

"No, sir, just merely fascinated with them," she concluded, voice tentative. "A shame you have not visited Wallachia; you would surely enjoy your discoveries. Perhaps, one day, after Grindelwald is defeated..."

She watched his body stiffen, probably not expecting her to name drop the dark wizard, but Varya always enjoyed surprising people, and Scamander was no exception. Despite his incredible achievements, he carried himself with unprecedented modesty, and amongst the sea of students, it was only his celebrated name that made him stand out. Varya had not met many powerful sorcerers, definitely not the good ones, but she doubted they were all as reserved as Newton Scamander.

"Yes, I suppose," he mumbled, pulling at the large vest that fit him strangely, "what do you make of...all of this?"

There it was, the curiosity that Tom had anticipated, "Of Grindelwald?" she asked, sham surprise in her voice. Then, she shrugged nonchalantly. "I cannot help the wrath I hold in my heart for him. After all, were it not for his fanatic views, my parents would still be alive."

She did not know whom she was speaking of.

"I see," answered Newt, eyes still trained on the dragon. It seemed that the man had more of a connection with creatures than he did with humans. "It is only natural, I assume. I have lost many because of him, as well."

Varya watched his face contort into something darker, stricken by grief, and despite herself, her heart went out to the wizard. At least, Varya had not known her parents, and so despite her loss, she did not have to deal with the painful memories. However, she had heard of Leta Lestrange's death, the girl who had befriended Newton Scamander ever since his early days at Hogwarts.

"He has been more reserved recently," she began, although she had no idea what she was talking about. She had distanced herself from anything related to the wizard, as it made her sick to the stomach. "Do you reckon he is plotting?"

Newton looked at her, hesitant, and he opened his mouth to say something, then immediately shut it. He fumbled with his steps, then relaxed and gave her a small smile, "We can only believe so. I am to meet Dumbledore tonight to discuss such plans, but I cannot say more. I advise you not to get involved with any of Grindelwald's plans, and I assume that is why Albus has brought you here, under his watch."

"Why?" frowned Varya.

"I believe that Albus has the intention of keeping you safe, although I must admit I am not terribly aware of his plans, as I have been quite preoccupied lately," he told her, suddenly shifting away as if he was about to leave the room.

"Why would Dumbledore keep me safe?" she asked again, doubtful.

The man regarded her, something flickering in his eyes, and she could not make out what he was thinking. "Because if our assumptions are correct, Gellert Grindelwald might just be looking for you."

***

It took Varya four glasses of champagne to drown out her nerves, mind still filled with Newton Scamander's words. She had avoided everyone during the rest of the night, evading Tom's perplexed looks at her consumerism, and she had tried her best to soothe her hammering heart, numb herself out. The tsunami of sensations that pounded against her thoracic cavity sent ripples of pain and anxiety through her bloodstream, adrenaline being secreted at an unusually fast rate, and no matter how many glasses she finished, her mind was still somewhat lucid.

He had terrified her in a way the girl did not even know was possible, and whatever game Scamander was playing at, he had won. Every breath she took was shakier than the last one, every step was misplaced, and she felt watched as she pushed her way amongst the crowd of students. Varya's legs tangled with her dress, and she almost fell over, barely managing to catch herself.

"Varya?"

The girl turned to face her roommate, Ivy Trouche, who was giving her a worried look as she watched Varya lean over a chair, wobbling on her feet. Ivy reached out, grabbing her tipsy friend by her waist, and started making her way out of the room.

"What happened?" she asked, distress lacing her honey voice. She smelled of intense perfume and the slightest hint of a danced night.

Varya did not say anything. Instead, she stared at Icarus Lestrange's approaching figure, who seemed to be just as concerned with her behavior. He followed the two of them outside of Slughorn's office, then watched as Ivy rested her roommate against the castle's chilly wall.

The moment she hit the ground, Varya cradled her knees, resting her cloudy head on them, and tried her best to bite back the weepings that started to rock her abdomen. She was a frightened eighteen-year-old girl, one that had been dealt a terrible hand of cards by the universe, and as much as she wanted to pretend to be just as mighty and callous as Tom Riddle, Varya knew she was more spineless.

She felt Icarus kneel beside her, taking her ice-cold hand in his ardent one, and gently massaging it with his thumb, trying to quiet her down. On her other side, Ivy sat down next to her, leaning her head on her friend's shoulder in a gesture of understanding.

To a passing figure, they might have looked like a group of ordinary, intoxicated teenagers, who had had a bit too much to drink at a festive party and were now dirtying their expensive gowns and suits on the grimy floors. And that was all they should have been. However, the universe had twisted their fate so eccentrically that they had had no childhood. They would never experience the innocence of their only worry being how to treat a nasty hungover.

Varya struggled at that moment, torn between letting every emotion she had lay out on the table and keeping Newton's words a secret. She could not come out clean to Ivy, she had been hiding too much from the girl, and it would be dangerous to reveal such information. Icarus might understand her better, but a part of her was always hesitant around him, unsure of his sincerity.

She hated being weak, and ever since her arrival at Hogwarts, that was all she had been. A mess of emotions caused by other people, because to someone that had never experienced the bitter taste of betrayal, trust came easy. But not anymore.

Fortunately, Della Beauchamp stepped out and saw the three Slytherins sprawled on the floor. With a small gasp, she hurried over, grabbing Varya's other hand and holding it to her face.

"You poor thing, cold as the night, is everything all right?" she asked, then almost immediately answered herself. "This is because you are worried about having to go home, is it not?"

Varya looked up, eyes rimmed with red, and gave the girl a soft smile. Her heart was unsullied, her nature was benevolent, and Varya wanted to crush her in a tight embrace for saving her once again. She nodded reluctantly, her insides twinging at the lie, then cleared her throat.

"Yes, I—" her voice was hoarse, and she felt her words fall out in a slurred speech, mind still intoxicated from the excessive champagne.

"Varya, why did you not tell me?" asked Ivy, a sympathetic look on her face that troubled Varya's pride. "I would have invited you to stay with me."

"Trouche, do not be foolish, your parents would never let you bring her in, you know how they feel about Grindelwald," said Icarus, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "And as much as I want to help, Petrov, it would be inappropriate to have you over."

Varya nodded, biting her lip at his words. It was not her biggest worry at the moment, but she had not realized her situation until now. The students were supposed to leave in two days, and while Varya knew that she would be heading to France on Christmas Eve, she was unsure of what she should do.

"Nonsense, she can come over and stay with me in London," said Della, dragging Varya up off of the floor, "my muggle parents have no clue who Grindelwald is, and your name is insignificant to them. The only thing they will judge is your sorrowful eyes, so none of that anymore, yes?"

She cupped Varya's face, squishing against her cheeks, then gave her a soft smile that dulled the ache in Varya's heart.

"Thank you," she breathed out, words muffled by Della's hands.

"Of course! What are friends for, Petrov?"

Varya looked around her, analyzing the three pairs of eyes that looked at her with concern and warmth, who wanted her to be strong above all, and for the first time, she felt that if she disappeared tomorrow, someone might care.

And for those who had stood against her, had taken advantage of her nativity only to weaponize her powers, there was sweet vengeance coming.