CHAPTER FOUR

"Did you really think that you could fix me? We'll sell your bones for another roll. We'll sharpen your teeth. Tell yourself that it's just business. Wolves come out of the woodwork, leeches come from out of the dirt, rats come out of the holes they call home. And I fall apart. And the snakes start to sing"

and the snakes start to sing - bring me the horizon

The library creaked, the sonority of pages reverberating through the chamber. A few students snickered, hiding behind the rows of books in secrecy, sharing forbidden kisses, or being mischievous. Some were deep in their studies, their quills scratching the parchments as they rapidly wrote down their jumbled thoughts, a desperate attempt to retain information that they stuffed like dirt in their ears, eyes unfocused due to maladaptive daydreaming.

Varya stood in one of the obscure corners, sunken face and glazed eyes, features more elfish than human, and flipped page after page, her psyche a sponge to anything she found remotely interesting. Hogwarts: a History, was cradled between her long fingers, a volume that exposed her to the truest origins of her academy. It was easy to dissect the paragraphs as she jotted down notes on everything, as if she were devising a plan to conquer every hallway and infest it with her rotten magic. Her eyes skimmed a fragment of interest, again and again, fascination dragging rocked edges on her mental, and she submerged herself in a tale of time.

"The legend of the Chamber of Secrets arises from Slytherin's departure and has been the subject of debate for many centuries. The legend itself concerns a chamber supposedly constructed by Slytherin deep beneath the school that he kept a secret from the other founders and sealed so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The story goes that when Slytherin's true heir returns, they alone will be able to open the Chamber of Secrets and release the horror within - a horror that will purge the school of those whom Slytherin believed were unworthy of studying magic. After many extensive searches of Hogwarts over the past nine hundred and fifty years, most reputable scholars agree that the existence of the Chamber of Secrets is a fanciful tale concocted by Slytherin's supporters."

Varya found her blood fall into a strained motion, fingers grasping aimless pages as she repeated the paragraph in her head. As a pureblood, she had always understood the prestige of passing down the magical power to her descendants, but she had never thought that some would go to such an extent to preserve it. She then wondered to Malfoy's words, when he had called her a mudblood. Prejudiced seemed to flower in the western garden of power hierarchies, veins of history, and hatred towards the muggles' crimes against sorcerers smothering any camaraderie that might have otherwise formed.

A chair was pulled across from her, and she watched Tom Riddle sit down, glancing at her briefly. His hair was neatly brushed, making his strong jawline stand out even more. His prefect badge rested neatly on his robe, catching the light of the nearby lanterns. His appearance was neat, stoic, almost robotic. His chin, as always, was held high, an obvious sign of his confidence.

He greeted her briefly, his eyes darting to the book that was open on the table and skimming the first paragraph. He bit his cheek as he noticed the subject that the girl was reading, then his stare fell on her.

Her black hair was held in a high ponytail, pulling at her features. High cheekbones were coated with the slightest blush, and he almost laughed at her defiant dark eyes. Obviously annoyed at being intruded, she shut the book, slightly pushing it to the side.

For a moment, he debated trying to penetrate her psyche again, strike with nails of invasion until the barriers of her privacy stumbled. What a curious character, a skilled witch that was refined in the dark arts, just so happened to transfer to Hogwarts. Moreover, now, when he was more interested in opening the Chamber of Secrets, there she was, reading on it in secrecy. His suspicion rose, and he thought back to the faithful summer before the year started, at how he killed his father with cold blood. Still, paranoia was his fatal flaw, and he wondered if she could be an investigator sent by the Ministry. No, there was no chance that his plan was flawed. Their deaths could not be traced back to him. 

In silence, she pulled out her Ancient Runes homework, starting to translate her assignment. Tom watched her struggle, then pulled out a scroll, handing it over to her without saying a word. Varya looked up, surprised, then cautiously took it. She opened it to find a translation guide for the runes that they had studied in class. Instinct kicked in like a turning engine, and the witch almost let questions tumble past her lips, only to throw him one look and understand—Riddle was a walking charade, a nefarious being that promenaded through ancient walls with a crafted mask of deceit covering darkened features. It was a routine for him, perhaps, to appear as a well-mannered boy, only to gain the trust of his victims.

Over the past week, she noticed that she shared quite a few classes with Tom, but tried to pay no mind to it. "Let him come to you," Dumbledore had told her. She thought it to be a good strategy, not wanting to seem too interested in Riddle.

"Thank you," she said, knowing all too well that he was trying to get her to open up so that he could ask about her school. Varya debated refusing his help, but she did not want to push him away either, and truth be told, she needed the help.

Tom observed as she went back to her homework, pulling his hands and clasping them on the table in front of him. "How has your first week been?" he began, "As a prefect, it is my duty to ensure that you are welcomed accordingly."

What a stupid excuse. Varya knew very well that Riddle could care less about how she adapted. "Well, after receiving a few death threats on the first day, I guess things have died down," she muttered bitterly.

Over the last few days, she had managed to talk to other people besides Elladora, as she finally met her other roommate, Ivy, and her boyfriend, Alphard Black. They were quite a pair, she had to admit, as they always clung to each other.

Tom hummed, then answered, "How is it compared to your old school?". Varya almost scoffed, then decided to throw him a bone. She had to play his game; otherwise, he would grow suspicious at her resistance. She assumed that Tom was used to charming girls off of their feet and, although bitterly, she had to admit that had she not known of his true nature, she would have been one of them.

"Well, no monsters are roaming the corridors at night, I suppose," she said, without adding the besides you that she wanted. "And the curriculum is very different. We were discouraged from using wands; they thought it was a sign of weakness. No wizard should be tied to any person or object."

"They?" Tom invited her to elaborate.

"The Dark Priest, I could say he was our headmaster, and other professors that taught at the school. They believed magic came from Hell, and that the Devil had blessed us with power to fight against the holy."

Tom tried to remain composed, but his mind began to spin at the thought of such a school. How could this girl have been so lucky to attend it, and yet still leave willingly? Oh, what he would give to have that education.

"So what did they teach you? Nobody seemed to know much about your school," Varya gazed at him, excitement a burning sensation in her bloodstream, yet she maintained the ice-inducing stare that had made younger students part for her in the hallways. Terrible, awful, Easter witch, and her darkened magic that had made her emotions rot away until her expression was a blank canvas for the eye to interpret. 

"They taught us dark arts, curses, and objects. Mostly about the creatures that surrounded our school - very different from those we study here - and how to communicate to them or other animals," she recalled, thinking of her curriculum. "Of course, we also had to learn how to tame dragons. And then, the top student of his class would become a weathercaster at graduation. He would fly the dragon over the mountains, bringing the rain and guarding the forest."

"Animals?" There was a subtle nuance of perplexion in his voice, or alertness, she was not entirely sure.

"Understanding wolves, birds, snakes," she said casually, wondering at his sudden interest.

Tom stopped suddenly, and she saw his mask crack briefly, anger peeking through it. "You are a Parslemouth?" he said, trying to compose himself. Is that why she had been looking at the Chamber Of Secrets? No, no. He was the heir; he was the one that would carry out the legacy and Slytherin's purpose. Tom could not let this Slavic girl interrupt his plans.

"Not exactly," she said, confused at how he suddenly relaxed when she said it. "We do not talk to them; we communicate through mutual understanding and bonding. They are often our step-stone to fauna, and we draw powers from the soil, from everything underneath. Twisted, dark, nefarious. We claim everything to be the Devil's creation."

"Interesting," his eyes flickered to the windows, noticing the sun setting down quickly. Soon, he will have to begin patrolling."I understand that you have a lack of skills when it comes to your wand; perhaps I could help you with that."

Varya clicked her tongue; how could he pretend to be nice? Was it not making him rot on the inside, until his skin turned jaundiced, his lips a nuance of sapphire, and his mind a mush of lies and jumbled truths? The girl thought it would have been exhausting to continue playing a game he wanted nor needed.

"In exchange for?" she asked, curious how he would react to her seeing through his display. To her surprise, the boy only smiled as he leaned forward, lowering the distance between themselves. He tilted his head, looking at her in an almost sensual way.

"I am just curious about magic outside of England; I cannot help it. I want to see what students are taught," he said in a low voice, maintaining eye contact. Varya looked at him, raising her chin confidently, meeting his gaze with just as much power.

"Very well, Tom."

***

Her heart beat fast as she marched down the corridor to Albus Dumbledore's office. She could feel her cheeks flush an anemone color, and her hand went up to feel their heat. She thanked Merlin for giving her strength to not break under Riddle's eyes, but here, in the dark corridor, she let herself feel the blood rush. There was a lunatic thread in his stare, an instability she recognized promptly, and her skin crawled with apprehension, a common reaction for the body in perilous situations.

He was good; she had to admit. He knew what to say. He knew how to use his strength to get her to squirm. She felt terrible that such talent and beauty would be lost, but it was a fair trade-off—his beauty and charm for undeniable power. The balance must always be maintained.

She grabbed the ends of her robe sleeves, gripping at them. Maybe he could still change, maybe there was still a chance for him to not succumb to his dark desire. His aura was certainly tainted; she saw it as early as the first day, but then again, so was hers. Furthermore, she could never commit such atrocities, right?

Varya had always seen herself as a strong individual, not letting her school break her soul. Although her morality was ambiguous, she knew she could never harm someone just for the thrill of it. No, she was selfish, that was true, perhaps even detached from others, but she was not evil.

Once again, she reminded herself why she was here: to clear her name, to prove to the world that she did not fear Grindelwald or the Ministry of Magic. She hoped that, by the time of her graduation, she could pursue a career, perhaps as a healer, as she had always loved potions and herbs.

Dumbledore looked at Petrov as she walked inside his office, noticing the slight fight in her eyes. He stood at his desk and invited her to take a seat across from him. He set the essays that he had been grading aside, then placed his quill back in the inkpot.

His office was of modest size, the fire giving it a warm glow. The shelves were filled with books, as they stood color-coded, their leather bounds facing the outside. Two portraits hung above the fireplace, looking at the girl curiously.

"How is your task going?" he asked her, offering her some candy. Varya refused, almost crinkling her face as she thought of the lemon sourness.

"You were right; he is inquisitive about what I know. I suppose he wants to drain my mind of knowledge; he even tried to read it," she said.

"And did he succeed?" Albus said, worried. How had he not thought that Riddle would be skilled in Legilimency?

"He did not, I am trained in Occlumency, but I do not know if I will be able always to keep my guard up," she admitted. However, her skills let her guard her thoughts when alert; she had always had trouble hiding it when exhausted or intoxicated.

"We will train you better, then. You must understand how important secrecy is. Riddle might well already be suspicious, and I believe he will see the similarities between the two of you."

"Similarities?" she asked, disgusted at the thought that she could have anything in common with Tom Riddle.

"Yes, as I have told you before, he is also an orphan. Although raised differently, you both have struggled, which means that you can understand him better than most. And I believe he will see your vulnerabilities too," said Albus, getting up from his desk and walking towards the fire. "You both have knowledge of uncanny magic, and he will desire more. You understand darkness just as well as he does. You have experienced it. Do you understand now why you could be the one to break him?"

Not really, Varya thought. Sure, their childhood might have been similar, but Varya was not a sociopath. And yes, she understood darkness, which made her beware of it, but Tom Riddle fully intended to embrace it.

"You can show him a different possibility, another side of the same coin," Albus explained, understanding finally hitting Varya. "But be careful, Varya, because he can do the same thing to you."