THE ANATOMY OF NICHOLAS AVERY - THE HITMAN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Great Hall resembled the gate of Hell; that is the only way Varya could describe the horrified disciples that burst through its doors. There was some raucous, but the solemn silence dominated the room. Headmaster Armando Dippet stood at the teacher table, looking over the sea of wizards and witches with a ghastly face.

Varya sat at the Slytherin table, Elladora, on her side, whereas Ivy had to stand at the front alongside Tom Riddle. The boy's eyes studied the room swiftly, almost as if he were searching for someone, and then they met Varya's. The girl watched his body unwind, and a scowl took over her face. His posture did not indicate that he was furious at her, which was strange. He had invaded her mind earlier and had surely seen something that could implicate her with Dumbledore; perhaps he even saw the pensieve. And as much as Tom Riddle was a stoic sociopath, the revelation of his future should have broken his impassive mask.

Then, he does not know the truth yet, Varya thought, relieved at the notion.

"Students of Hogwarts," the Headmaster began, his voice not carrying its usual quirkiness, "I look across the room, and I can already see many terrified expressions, which leads me to believe that the news has already spread."

Varya glanced around the room, and sure enough, many children seemed to be spooked of what they had heard. A student had been petrified. How? They did not know, but the castle had been a safe space for most of them, Varya included, and now, that idea had been shattered.

"A student has been found petrified, and—" he waved his hand over the crowd, trying to calm down the tsunami of whispers that had started, "—as I was saying, we have unfortunately found Arthur Thompson petrified on the first floor, and although he is still alive, his body is completely frozen. We do not know the cause of this, and we will keep investigating, but for now, one thing is clear— Hogwarts is no longer safe."

The feeling of deja-vu was prominent, and suddenly Varya found herself thrown back into the past, when something similar had happened at Scholomance. A boy had encountered an evil creature, and his fate was tragic— decapitated and impaled on one of the school's crosses. Although Arthur had not been subjected to the same bloody ending, Varya could not help but wonder if whatever had petrified him was also of monstrous origins.

"We will not be closing the school, as there is still a whole semester of magic ahead of you, but we will be asking all students to go back home during the winter break so that we can carry out our investigation without interruption," he continued, earning a few mutters of disapproval. Nobody spoke up, in any case. After all, someone had nearly been murdered.

The thought of not being able to stay at Hogwarts was upsetting to Varya, as the idea of going back to Transylvania was not something she looked forward to. She had no house to go back to, as her guardian probably thought her dead, and the school was off-limits to anyone except the current students. Sure, she could, perhaps, ask them to make an exception, but something was knocking slightly at her brain, almost similar to trepidation, telling her not ever to return.

"Where will you go?" asked Elladora, almost as if she was reading her thoughts. Varya fenced her mind once again, unsure of what other potion the girl could have given her. Her hand flew to her wand, and she fought back every urge to hex the sly fox. She did not answer her roommate, merely shrugging and giving her a scowl, but her mind was slowly turning.

Of course, Rosier had invited her to spend a few days at his estate, but after what had just happened, she was hesitant. Although going would help her further her assignment, a part of her could not help but fear being in the same room as all of them.

"Your prefects will escort you back to your rooms, and starting today; your curfew will be at dusk. The only exceptions made will be for classes that start later, such as Astronomy. Everyone caught sneaking around past sunset will not only have house points deducted, but will also be severely questioned."

The Slytherins started getting up, waiting for their prefects to come and join them; however, it was only Ivy Trouche that came to lead the group. Varya threw a glance over her shoulder and saw that Tom Riddle had stayed behind to discuss something with Dippet. She bit her lip, contemplating if what she was about to do was of sane mind, then, as the Slytherin house started walking down the stairs, she ducked behind a pillar.

"You should be going back to your Common Room!" came the nagging voice of a portrait. Varya looked at it, eyes narrowed. It was a middle-aged wizard that the girl recognized as Brian Gagwilde III, and he was wearing an atrocious outfit that made him appear more of a buffoon than the descendant of Headmaster Brian Gagwilde.

Varya was about to take out her wand, then understood that it would emit a low light if she used it, and so she settled on casting a silencing spell with her hand. She marveled at its naturality, the way her magic had seemed to start building itself up again slowly, but her thoughts were interrupted by a distant sound of footsteps.

With the corner of her eye, Varya watched Tom Riddle take the moving stairs upwards, contrary to the downward direction that led to the Slytherin Common Room. He glanced briefly over his shoulder, eyes trailing his surroundings, and Varya held her breath as they passed over her general direction. Alas, he did not seem to notice her, as he continued going up.

After a few seconds, Varya bit back the dreadful feeling that filled her guts, and made her way up the stairs, keeping a generous distance between the two of them. Tom kept climbing the stairs until he reached the seventh floor, casting charms left and right towards the portraits, making them not notice his presence.

Eventually, they both arrived at an empty corridor that Varya had never seen before. By the looks of it, it was not frequented, the dust had settled on the tiles, creating a copper-colored hue on the carved stone, and an old-fashioned chandelier was placed in the middle of the ceiling. Varya looked at it, noticing the old cobwebs, and her skin crawled at the idea of spiders. However, there seemed to be none.

Her eyes darted back to Tom when she heard a low rumble, almost similar to the one in Diagon Alley when the bricks had parted for her, and she stared in wonder at the sumptuous wooden door that appeared out of thin air. Tom pushed it open, and then it shut right back, disappearing after him.

"Merlin's beard," the girl said, still in awe at the secret that she had just discovered. Perhaps, Hogwarts was not as shallow as she had once thought.

With small steps, she made her way to where the boy had stood, her mind only focusing on her need to find out what was going on. She touched the wall, knocked on it softly, and listened, but nothing seemed to bring back the heavy door. Varya sighed, frustrated at the puzzle before her, then, she heard the familiar rumbling from her right.

Her eyebrows furrowed in turmoil, and she followed it, turning the corner right, only to find a small trapdoor on the wall. She looked at the golden doorknob dubiously, discerning she would have to crouch to get in, but Varya could not back out now. Swinging the small door open, she crawled in the tiny, dark space that stood behind it, already reluctant to move forward. Then, she heard his voice.

"Were any of you followed?" asked Tom, looking around the table at the concerned expressions of his devoted followers. The six of them shook their heads, and he cast them a pleased smirk. Varya crawled further, and noticed a small crack in the wall in front of her, almost like a keyhole, and she placed her eye in front of it, peeking through to see the room.

It was dim, and the fire that illuminated the chamber glowed of brilliant green, casting obscure shadows on the faces of the people that stood crowded around a rectangular table. Varya immediately spotted Elladora Selwyn's fiery hair, and, next to her, Maxwell Nott, and her heart churned at the memory of being found in the Forbidden Forest. She could distinguish a few other faces, such as the insidious Nicholas Avery, or the heedless Icarus Lestrange. The last two had their backs turned to her, but she easily recognized the platinum hair that belonged to Abraxas Malfoy, which led her to believe that Renold Rosier was the last person in the room.

"—deal with it?" Varya's attention snapped back to the conversation, and she cursed herself for not hearing the first part of Nicholas Avery's sentence, as he slowly twirled a small dagger in his hand. The girl realized that it was hers, and that the boy had made no effort to clean the blood off of it, probably enjoying the dried redness that reminded him just how infirm life was.

"Are you purposely being obtuse, Avery?" came the golden voice of Elladora, as she turned to glare at the boy. "That is the last thing we need, you running around and torturing—"

"Persuading!"

"—students! We already have a grand problem on our hands, and I cannot comprehend why everyone is so elusive to it." she finished, throwing her petite hands in the air. Varya almost snorted at her delicacy, and she wondered what terrible poisons those fingers had tinkered with.

"Care to share it with us?" asked Tom, his stern voice making the girl pull herself together, rage suddenly dissolving into obedience.

"Petrov," she spat Varya's name as if it was the wickedest thing in the world.

"Varya is not a problem," answered Icarus, obviously pestered by the girl. Tom nodded, gesturing slightly towards the boy, almost as if showing his agreement.

"Really?" Elladora chuckled bitterly, "Then why did she threaten me with her wand in our room, Icarus? She knows! She knows we have been messing with her, and despite what you believe, she will not let it be."

Varya's view was suddenly obstructed by what she could only assume to be Riddle's back, as he had positioned himself against whatever wall she was peeking through. The girl almost let out a string of profanity, irritated by the fact that she could no longer see what was happening.

"Avery," that was all Tom said before a chair scraped against the floor, and a blood-curling screech filled the room. Varya's eyes watered at it, as she realized the scream belonged to her roommate, and that Tom had probably signaled Avery to silence her disobedience.

Tom Riddle was a monster who did not care for the safety or well-being of his followers, and Varya shuddered at what Icarus had once told her, that they all believed that every punishment bestowed on them was deserved. They were brainwashed, delirious with devotion to their leader, to the point they did not realize that they were being tortured into submission.

"Thank you, Avery," Tom's voice was faraway, modulated, and although Varya did not know what Nicholas had done to Selwyn, she could not help the revulsion that flowed through her blood. The boy was not even phased by the terrifying scream that his friend had let out. He almost sounded pleased.

Then, he moved out of the way, and Varya scrambled to look through the peephole once again. Elladora was no longer in her view to her disappointment, and she wondered where the girl had gone.

"I believe that we should finish this tomorrow, Dumbledore is already sniffing around, and you must not be caught after curfew. Head back to the dungeons, make sure you are not seen. Nicholas, stay behind."

The sound of chairs being dragged across the floor filled the chamber, and Varya watched all of them, except Nicholas, head out of the door in silence. Tom Riddle stood with his face toward the fireplace, but as soon as the room emptied, he turned toward Avery and gave him a small hand signal that Varya did not understand. Then, he suddenly disappeared from the view, and Varya leaned forward to try to find him.

The wall in front of her disappeared, and she fell against the stone floor of the chamber, head clashing right against it painfully. She let out a small yelp of surprise; then, her hand flew up to where her head hurt.

"Eavesdropping is not lady-like," sighed Tom, who was now leaning over her fallen figure with an amused smirk.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked as Avery helped her get off of the floor. She dusted off her robes, then followed the two boys to the table.

"Do you know what room this is, Petrov?" asked Tom as he sat down across from her, eyes analyzing her face. She looked drained, yes, but a slight rose hue had made its way back to her face, perhaps for the first time in weeks.

Varya shook her head. She had no clue where they were, and she was quite curious. She presumed not many people knew of it; otherwise, the group would not carry out their meetings here.

"The Room of Requirement," he answered her, eyes locking with hers, and it made Varya's heart jump. "It is a room that appears for those in need, and mine was to meet in secrecy, so if something disturbs my wishes, it is only natural that I would be able to tell, do you not agree?"

His voice was condescending, almost as if he was scolding her for her behavior, but Varya did not let her confidence flat out. She wanted answers from him; she wanted to know what game he was playing at and why he had had her roommate do such atrocious things to her.

"I believe that if the conversation is about me, then I am more than entitled to hear it," she said defiantly, then turned her head to Nicholas Avery, who was humming to himself while scrapping against the wooden table with her blade, "My dagger, please?"

He looked up at her extended hand, as her lips were pursed in discontent, but only gave her a sneer as he leaned closer to her. Avery was a beautiful boy, with fawn hair and a healthy bone structure. However, his onyx eyes carried the pits of Hell in them, and now, when he was not modulating his behavior to blend with the clique, Varya could finally see the sociopathic flash that he shot her. He was a deranged man who thought torture was his own game of pleasure, and he was a domineering killer as he relished playing with his pray.

Nicholas Avery had mastered the Tengo charm, a spell known to siphon liquids from materials, and it was not because he tended to spill red wine on his expensive dress shirts. He was Tom's elite assassin, his hands so bloodied that they now always had the vague metallic reek attached to them, no matter how much he scrubbed. He enjoyed doing things the traditional way, rarely using magic, as it could easily be traced back to him. Nevertheless, standard weapons were easier to discard, and there was no trace of evidence that a simple spell could not wipe out.

Instead of handing the girl her knife, he wiped the fresh blood on her robe, crooning to himself quietly, then have her a sinister smirk, perhaps trying to disturb her, but Varya remained impassive, staring at the killer right in the eyes.

"Consider it payment for the trouble you have caused," he jeered, stuffing her knife in his robes. He balanced himself on the chair's back feet, then put his hands behind his neck, staring at the ceiling and closing his eyes.

"Trouble?" Varya raised her eyebrow. If anything, they were the ones that had caused trouble.

"Yes, very much so," it was Tom that spoke this time, his silver tongue twisting each word almost as if it was the uttermost flattery, "We have a lot to talk about, Varya. And you can start by telling me why Dumbledore personally came to transfer you from your school."

So that is all he had seen, Varya realized with ease. Tom did not know of the future, he had not had enough time to unlock that part of her memory, and she was grateful for it. Now, all she had to do was make up a believable lie, one so convincing that there were no loose ends that Tom Riddle could drag on.

"Dumbledore knew my family," that was not what she should have said, and Varya bit back the wince that almost escaped her lips when Tom narrowed his eyes, "and he had promised them to watch over me."

"And it took him fifteen years?" scoffed Tom.

"Well, of course! Everyone thought me dead, Riddle, and he was no exception. Moreover, even if he had come to find me in Romania, you think the Dark Priest announced to the world that I had been recruited? The village thought I was a witch, and they planned to burn me for it. And yes, such practices are still carried out in that part of the world. If Dumbledore came to my old house, he was probably told I had been set on fire!"

Her elaboration surprised her, the pieces suddenly starting to fill in as she continued to tell her story, and she watched as the disbelief in Tom's eyes started to flutter away, turning into curiosity.

"Why did he just not track your magic, then?" it was Avery that asked this time, and the girl wanted to punch him in the face.

"I did not use a wand, you dimwit, how could they track me?" she scoffed, almost as if the answer was so obvious. "You westerners have tied yourself to such objects without objection, but have you ever wondered why they were introduced? To control you! The Ministry can track your wands, and Eastern European sorcerers believe in free practice. We can already practice dark arts, so why would they track us?"

That had been the final nail that set her lie, and she sighed in relief as she watched the two boys exchange a curious glance before Tom slowly nodded. The subject would not be forgotten, but for now, it was enough to satisfy their probing. And until the next time they would start digging, Varya would have enough time to discuss it with Dumbledore.

Then, Tom waved his hand in the air, and a small scroll made its way to his palm. He opened it slowly, then passed it over to the girl. As she picked it up, she could see a long list of names scribbled of it in cursive writing. She recognized some of them, as they belonged to influential families in the wizarding world.

"What is this?" she asked, slowly looking up at the two of them. Nicholas was wearing a prideful smirk on his lips, whereas Tom was watching her with hawk eyes.

"It is a list of the guests that will be at Rosier's gathering over Christmas break," said Tom, and then he conjured a pen, slowly underlining some of them, "and those four are the ones I want you to strike a conversation with."

Varya gave him a baffled look, "You want me to gather information for you? What on Earth makes you think I would do as you say?"

Tom's sinister smile made her toes curl in her black shoes, and she watched his gaze flicker with something akin to crudeness, "You will find I can be very...persuasive."

"Is that a threat, Riddle?"

"Perhaps it is," he mirrored back her words from the party, and Avery snickered at the glare that the girl threw him. "You will be a new face in the crowd, and that will attract people to you. The name I underlined are some families we believe have affiliated themselves with Grindelwald, and with your family history, it is most likely that they will want to talk to you."

"Why not just have Rosier do it? Is he not your usual schmoozer?" Varya asked, glancing back at the list.

"His family is trying to distance themselves from Grindelwald as much as possible, and so he cannot be seen conversing with suspected allies. Of course, invites are sent out of courtesy, but they do not mingle." Avery explained, his voice carrying a note of gravity.

Varya frowned, still unsure about the plan, "And why do you want to know if they are loyal to him?" She was met with silence, and that made her scoff, "You want me to put myself out on the line, and you will not even tell me why?"

"We do not trust you, Petrov, make no mistake, and if it were not for the unusual predicament we have found ourselves in, you would not even be aware of this," Tom raised his voice, displeased by the lack of subordination. He looked at the girl, and his blood boiled as he watched her remain as unmoved as ever.

Varya glared right back, but a part of her told her to accept the task, get on his right side, and slither her way into his group. She looked at the list, and dread settled in her stomach. Was it worth it? If she engaged with those people, she would expose herself to Grindelwald, and something told her that the dark wizard would not be pleased to hear of her survival. However, if she wanted to rejoin the wizarding world eventually, then announcing her existence at a glamorous gala was the least chaotic thing to do.

That was to be one of her biggest mistakes.

"Very well," she said eventually, and Tom gave her a pleased nod. Then, he gestured to Avery.

"Avery will keep out a look for you during the event, your presence might unsettle some fanatics, and I do not underestimate their capabilities. Some might target you, but rest assured that we will ensure your safety."

The warmth that enveloped her made her want to grab her knife from Avery's pockets and put it against her own throat. These were the people that had poisoned her, that had tried to enter her mind just to ensure that they could assign her a small task, and yet here she was, her heart fluttering at the notion of having someone watch out for her life.

However, it made her feel like there was a soul out there that valued her existence, that would care if something were to happen to her, and that was something she was not familiar with. And even if it was the imposing devil that was Tom Riddle, her heart still thumped at the feeling.

"I want something in return," she said, her eyes carrying some unspoken conflict.

It was true, she did want their help with a task of her own, but Varya did not know how to trust them. Besides that, she also knew Tom would suspect her if she suddenly obeyed without asking for a favor in return. After all, it was what he would do.

At the boy's raised eyebrow, Varya turned to Avery and continued, "You once told me that Maxwell could understand what had happened in the woods that night, and that he might know where to look for such things. My demand is that he looks into it. I want answers, and you will get them for me."

Tom Riddle watched her with respect, enjoying how she delegated Nott and Avery with a task. However, a part of him was also irritated by her authority over his own followers, and he wanted to cast a curse at her. He held back and only nodded to Nicholas, granting the girl's wish.

"Very well," Avery said, raising from his seat at once, then bowing his head to Tom. "I will head to the Common Room."

"Nicholas."

He turned to her, eyebrow hoisted and sneer on his face, "Yes, ma'am?"

"What did you do to Elladora?" asked Varya, curiosity nibbling at her mind.

The boy snickered darkly, then pulled something out of his pocket, dangling it in the air. It was a lovely earring, the diamond sparkling in the room's dim light, and yet Varya let out a gasp when she saw the gruesome reality. It was still attached to the lower part of an earlobe, bloodied and grotesque.

For some obscure reason, Varya felt a sickening pleasure settle in her stomach, some thirst for vengeance being quenched at the sight of such torture, and darkness crept around the edges of her soul, small claws digging into it. She bit back the sinister smile that threatened to spill on her features, shaking her head.

Tom Riddle did not miss it, nevertheless.

"Nothing magic cannot fix," sighed Avery, "but surely enough for her to keep her mouth shut."

Varya sighed, then narrowed her eyes, "If you ever poison me again, I will make sure my dagger follows you to your tomb."

Avery laughed, throwing his head back in wicked delight, then gave a mocking bow, "Of course, little vixen, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned — try as you might, but stronger men and more vicious gals have attempted to get to me. Yet here I stand."

"You stand there so mighty, but remember that it only takes one bad apple to ruin a good basket, and you, Avery, have not had to deal with witchcraft like mine," Varya hissed, and, as an illustration, she conjured a flickering flame that glowed of blackening light in her hand, the kind of fire no water could extinguish, and when cast upon flesh, did not burn, but rather chewed at flesh like maggots.

"Magic like yours?" the boy singsonged mockingly, but his eyes stayed on the flame, not letting it out of sight, "Perhaps, but then again, I have crushed it once, have I not?"

With that, he left the small salon, and his absence made the reticence between the two souls left in the Room of Requirement be more potent than ever. Varya threw a tentative glance at Riddle, and she saw him watching her with sly eyes, admiring the flame she still held with menacing eyes.

It was then that she gathered the courage to ask what had been on her mind for so long, "The petrified student, that was your doing?"

Tom stiffened, and his gaze fired as he scrutinized her. He pursed his lips in thought, then shook his head. "No."

It was a lie, they both knew it, but neither commented on it, enjoying the quietness that surrounded them. Varya thought back to how he had found her in the Forbidden Forest, bloodied and maddened, and how his arms had been a source of comfort for her. In an idealistic world, Tom Riddle could have been someone she admired greatly. Hell, even now, with his macabre behavior and twisted smiles, the boy still demanded some sort of respect from her. He was efficacious, intelligent, and Varya did not mind the darkness that always trailed behind him.

She felt conflicted, unsure of what to make of him. Why was she so fascinated? Why could she not step away from him? Even if Dumbledore told her to suddenly abandon her task, Varya thought she could not let Tom Riddle go.

Varya wanted to make him feel, to have him open up slowly and step away from what he was about to become, and so her next question surprised them both.

"Are you going back to your family over Christmas?"

Of course, the girl knew he was an orphan, but she wanted him to admit it to her, to share this part of his life that he perhaps tried to hide from the rest of the world. Tom twisted a black ring on his finger, and bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say, then, he looked up at her.

"My parents are dead," he admitted, "I will be going back to Wool's orphanage before we meet at the Rosier manor."

Varya nodded, feigning surprise at his words. She knew of his predicament, but she could not raise suspicion. "I do not know where I am going yet; I do not have a place to return to."

It was Riddle's turn to be agitated, almost as if he had not considered that she was also an orphan, and he nodded as if he was acknowledging her story. They did not say anything else; they just sat in the glow of the fireplace's flame, gazes locked in the slightest feeling of understanding. And as the minutes went by, they both felt themselves submerge in acquaintanceship.