Pairings: Fem!HP/ TMR, (slow burn), more pairings later on.

Disclaimer: I (obviously) do not own any rights of the Harry Potter Franchise.

Rated: M

AU!

A/N: Trigger Warning (disturbing depictions of violence)

Chapter 12: Cake & Blood

Violet sat in the familiar darkness of the cupboard as she waited for Petunia to unlock the door for her to begin to daily chores. She braided her long black hair while she watched the picture of her parents laughing in the courtyard of Hogwarts. She hadn't heard from Hermione, Draco, or Theo throughout the summer and she had begun to wonder if she had imaged the entire year. It was easier to pretend that none of it actually had happened then admit that her friends had forgotten about her. She didn't blame them. It was nice that they had spent any time with her at all. The photo of her parents was the only thing that kept her grounded in reality; the only proof that for the briefest of moments there had been love in her life. It was almost too easy to fall back into the shell of a person she had been before Hogwarts. The Dursley's had made sure that nothing had changed in her living arrangement and in their treatment of her. It was impossible to feel like a person when you weren't treated like one.

The cupboard door unlocked and Violet got up to begin her daily regime of chores. The weight that she had put on at school had quickly disappeared as the Dursley's only gave her scraps of food that had been left over from their dinners. She had to constantly keep stopping her chores in order to pull up Dudley's hammy down shirt. It kept sliding off her shoulders, as it was about ten times too large for her. It was obvious that Dudley was eventually going to surpass his father in size one day; 'probably being his greatest achievement,' Violet thought as she vacuumed the family's tacky beige living room. She wondered if they would give him some kind of trophy when it happened. Would there be an awards ceremony?

She was so amused by the thought that she didn't notice Petunia snapping her fingers at her to get her attention until Petunia pulled the vacuum cord from the wall. Petunia wasn't an attractive woman by any means and the pursed lipped scowl she always wore seemed to heighten her ugliness. The set frown lines only served to make her impossibly long and narrow face seem even longer. It must have been difficult for her to grow up with Lily, whose hair was like wildfire and whose smile lit up any room. Petunia's hair was the color of mud and her small circular eyes were hard and cold, at least when they looked at Violet.

"Listen here, girl," she hissed as she stared down her nose at Violet. "Vernon's boss and his wife are coming over for dinner tonight and it is very important that we impress them," she paused to shove a hideous yellow dress into Violet's hands. "You are to be seen and not heard. You will smile and serve them their food and make sure that they are comfortable. I don't want to see any of that freakishness," she spat the word, "or you'll regret ever having been born." Petunia left the living room without so much as another glance at Violet.

"I already do," she whispered to the empty living room.

Violet grimaced as she looked down at the sunflower yellow taffeta monstrosity that she was wearing. It hung loosely from her petite frame with long flowing sleeves and an uncomfortably high and conservative neckline. The dress fell to her knees which only served to highlight how skinny and knobby her legs were. A thick fuchsia sash tied around her waist violently clashed with the bright yellow of the dress both of which were too large for her body. The sash kept dipping below her waist making her torso look disproportionately long compared to the rest of her body. She wasn't sure whether Petunia had picked this dress because she had liked it or because she had wanted to humiliate Violet. She found both options to be equally depressing.

It was a small relief that the Dursley's had actually given her a hairbrush to use for the evening or she would have had to comb her hair with her fingers like she normally did. It had much more bounce when she used a brush. Her long dark hair hung in waves that framed her heart-shaped face and highlighted her high cheekbones. She preferred to keep her hair natural for any formal occasion she was forced to attend and opted to just let it fall around her in a careless cascade of loose curls. She could see beauty whenever she caught her reflection in passing but there was little use in dwelling on it. Nothing about her mattered here.

She had been waiting in the living room for several minutes for Vernon's esteemed guests to finally arrive. It was bound to be a boring night of forced small talk and fake laughter while her Uncle tried to schmooze and con his way into a promotion. Once Vernon's mind was fixed on something, it was impossible to reason with him and with the new salary that could come as a result from tonight, Vernon was determined to make sure the evening went well.

The doorbell rang at exactly seven, with one last grimace at her dress and a resigned sigh, Violet began to prepare various cocktail glasses for the new arrivals. Mr. and Mrs. Robertson arrived at the Dursley's house with much enthusiasm from Vernon and Petunia as they led them to the living room where Violet was waiting with a fake smile plastered to her face. She had to fight an overwhelming urge not to roll her eyes when she saw the fake enthusiasm leaking out of Vernon.

"This is our niece, Violet," Petunia crooned while trying to fix Violet with a look of overly done motherly affection. It made her sick. The yellow dress Petunia was wearing was much more subdued than Violet's but still just as hideous.

"Meet Mr. and Mrs. Robertson." It seemed Vernon was still having a hard time trying not to outright order Violet about in the presence of strangers. An elderly man with salt and pepper colored hair and a soft face full of wrinkles stepped forward to shake her hand as curious yet friend light brown eyes regarded her. Violet quickly shook his hand and offered him a drink. She could feel Petunia's stare on her back reminding her not to forget her place.

The conversation quickly turned to the recent political scandal, golf, and other mundane topics that Violet easily tuned out. Her Uncle made sure there was never a lull in the conversation excelling in the role of charming host. Violet tried not to flinch whenever his hard eyes fell on her throughout the evening. Dudley was angrily sulking in the corner frustrated that he had to spend an entire evening away from the television.

The dinner was probably the nicest meal that Violet had ever had at the Dursleys as they actually allowed her to sit at the table. She made sure to give herself extra helpings of all the food that was served and dutifully listened to Mr. Robertson lecture them all about the importance of having a diversified stock portfolio, whatever that was. It was also endlessly amusing to watch Petunia try and fail to impress Mrs. Robertson who would only respond to her with an 'indeed' or a 'quiet right,' before turning back to her husband. Violet couldn't help but notice that her uncle hardly touched his meal, instead choosing alcohol over any kind of solid food. It helped make his charming host act significantly more convincing as he would heartily laugh at every bad joke that Mr. Robertson made with his cheeks turning red from amusements and spirits. After dinner, the party retired to the living room once again where Violet made sure to refill all of the adult's glasses once they were all comfortably seated. The evening seemed to be progressing very well if Vernon and Mr. Robertson's pleased flushes were anything to go by, or that might have been caused from each of them having far too much brandy.

"Violet, fetch the cake for dessert," Petunia ordered barely able to keep the contempt out of her voice. She could see Mrs. Robertson raise an eyebrow at the tone but Petunia played it off with a polite cough followed by a deep drink from her martini.

"She seems like such a sweet thing," Mrs. Robertson commented as Violet began to enter the living room with a three tiered vanilla cake in hand.

"Yes, Yes. A dear girl….dreadfully quiet though," Mr. Robertson agreed.

Vernon swayed slightly in his seat, making it clear that he had definitely too much brandy; His small brown eyes having difficulty focusing on one object or person for too long. "She's a bit touched in the head, you see. Violet's a very slow girl. Been that way ever since she was a babe," he managed to say miraculously without slurring a single word. Violet was too focused on not dropping the cake to bother to be offended at what he said. After all, he and Petunia frequently loved to degrade her intelligence.

"Oh, the poor dear," Mrs. Robertson said, giving Violet a pitying look. "Where are her parents? I believe you mentioned earlier that she was your niece?" Violet sucked in her breath at the mention of her parents, suddenly feeling like she had been plunged into ice water.

"They're dead," Vernon said gruffly. "The father was a no good drunk and crashed the family car into a tree one night," he finished in a voice that showed all the disdain that he felt for Violet's parents.

Before the Robertson's could respond the entire room was covered in pink frosting as the cake that Violet had been holding exploded in her hands.

Petunia shrieked while the Robertson's eyes became large in confusion and fear. Dudley began to lick the frosting off of his fingers in gluttonous delight. The whole scene would have been rather funny if not for the furious expression in Vernon's eyes. Violet ran out of the room mumbling about paper towels but not before hearing the words 'deeply troubled,' and 'halfwit' from Vernon as he tried to calm down his boss.

She heard the front door close with a loud bang before she returned to the living room. Standing at the door with paper towels in hand she took a deep breathe before reentering the now cake-covered room. Vernon was turning purple in rage while Petunia looked completely horrified at her now ruined furniture. She took a minute to collect herself and mourn her stained furniture before she grabbed Dudley from the living room and marched him upstairs to clean him and herself up. Violet's hands began to shake as she realized she was alone with her Uncle.

"I'm so s-sorry," Violet sputtered as she realized the full extent of the murderous rage that was present in Vernon's eyes. She was covered in cake and frosting but that was the least of her current problems. She tried to take a few steps back before he lunged for her with his meaty hands.

She could smell the brandy on his breath as he leaned in so his face was only a few inches from hers. "You little bitch," he hissed as he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

"I'm s-," she was cut off by a slap to the face, the strength of which caused her to fall to her knees in pain, dropping the glass cake platter and paper towels as she fell. The platter shattered beneath her; the tiny pieces scattering and disappearing into the white carpet. How she envied them.

"Do you have any idea what you've just cost me," he screamed as he slapped her again. "It took me weeks to convince him to come to dinner. There are at least three other people gunning for that promotion. I was so close and you just ruined it with your freakishness."

Violet tried to curl into a ball to protect herself but Vernon was having none of that. He grabbed her by her hair and used it to pull her back up to her feet. He spun her around before he threw her at the plaster and wood fireplace at the front of the room. She whimpered in pain as she fell hard onto the plaster; the back of her head banging against the wooden frame with considerable force. She lay there in a daze as Vernon began to throw a variety of cocktail glasses at her from the liquor cabinet. He had a crazed look in his eyes as he became lost in his rage. Glass and wine rained down over her as she tasted the sickeningly sweet combination of cake frosting and blood mixing in her mouth.

One of the brandy glasses he had thrown hit her square in the temple. It exploded on impact and Violet watched in disinterest as the vision in her right eye began to change until everything in the room was painted in a deep red sheen. Soon, all she could see and taste was blood. The sweet taste of cake long since vanishing from her tongue. Vernon continued to scream and rant. She wondered if he was going to kill her; it's not like anyone would have noticed if she was gone, she supposed.

She heard him taking off his belt buckle and a moment later she felt herself being lifted up so she sat on her knees with her back exposed to him. She felt the sting of the buckle piercing her skin before she heard the crack of the belt. He whipped her with the buckle over and over again. She lost count, and soon the world faded in and out of her vision. Her blood felt cool as it dripped down her back, especially compared to the heat of the open welts forming where he struck her. The whipping seemed to last a lifetime, but then again it always felt that way. Twelve years of his hate, of his rage, and it always felt like time froze the moment she heard the buckle sliding off him.

All she could focus on, the only thing that seemed real anymore was the pain of the buckle tearing her apart. She fell onto her face and screamed in agony as Vernon kicked her in the back, his shoe rubbing on her open wounds. With his need for respect and blood satisfied, he became bored with punishing her. "Clean this mess up," he ordered before dropping his belt in exhaustion and marching upstairs.

And so she did. Her face betrayed no signs of emotion while she swept up the shattered glass and wiped up the blood and wine stains from the plaster fireplace. The pieces of cake and frosting smeared throughout the room were more difficult but she managed using wet paper towels to blot up the crumbs and remove the stains. Lastly, she scrubbed her blood from his belt buckle and watched in morbid curiosity as the rusty red swirled in the pure white sink before disappearing down the drain. She left it by the stairs. It wasn't until early in the morning that she finally finished cleaning and went quietly into her cupboard.

She wept then as her dress, her skin, her soul lay in tatters all around her.