The Dark Mark burned on her skin. She clawed desperately at the awful black stain on her arm but it wouldn't budge. Tears flowed down her cheeks as her nails dragged long red gashes across the painted skin. George appeared in front of her and stared at the mark of a Death Eater that would brand her forever. Tears flowed down his face as his expression warped from anger to disgust, to rage.
'George wait' she called out. 'Come back'
But he had already disappeared.
Violet woke up to Sadie nudging her around 8:30, mumbling something about forgetting to set her alarm. George's angry face flashed in her mind as she opened her eyes, but she couldn't remember if it had been the real George or a dream George that had looked at her with so much anger and disgust.
She heaved a deep breath in and filled her mind with the picture of him looking at her in the library with his hand on her face, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. That was the real George.
George doesn't know, she reminded herself, and what he doesn't know, can't hurt him.
She chanted it to herself over and over as she got ready for the day before giving in and double-checking that the 1981 book was still carefully tucked under her bed and undisturbed. She stared at its hard black cover and wished she could extract the information from her mind permanently. No matter how happy she got, or how close to George she became, the images on the page would haunt her, and inevitably, ruin everything. Inexplicably, she felt resentful tears sting the corners of her eyes and before she could fully give into the helpless feeling, she kicked the book back under her bed and stalked off to class.
George was already at their table when she got there but not wanting to sit in awkward silence, she hung back in the hallway until she spotted Snape stirring in his office at the front of the room and sat down just as he was beginning to explain the brewing instructions.
"Read your instructions carefully and do not dismiss the required use of all three cauldrons. Place the finished product on my desk. Begin."
"Morning," George whispered, watching her pull the pewter, brass, and copper cauldrons out from underneath the table.
"Morning," she responded much more rushed than she meant to. She cursed herself for overthinking everything she said to him and finally looked up. He cocked his head slightly and produced an amused look on his face due to her sudden awkwardness.
"Get up to anything fun after class yesterday?" He teased, clearly relishing in the cherry red hue of her cheeks.
"I was harassed actually," she turned towards him with fake concern. "Some crazy git in the library threw himself at me."
"Blimey, sounds terrifying," he responded, smiling from ear to ear. "Why'd he do that?"
"Dunno, I think he's convinced himself that I like him or something."
"I see," he said nodding and faking a thoughtful look. "What'd you do to give him that impression?"
"Hmm," she mused, writing down the ingredient list on a piece of parchment, and shoving it into his hand. "I guess I did throw a snake at him once."
He chuckled and stood up to head towards the cabinet. "That'll do it, Vi, you gotta be careful with displays of affection like that."
She bowed her head to hide the smirk that just never seemed to go away when she was with George and tried to concentrate. The pewter pot had brought the potion water to a simmer by the time she looked up to see George walk back down the aisle and drop the pile of horned slugs, porcupine quills, and snake fans onto the table with a thud.
"Alright, what shall I do?"
"Nothing," she said flatly. "This is very time sensitive so it'll be best to just let me do it."
"Alright, then I will gladly watch the master, work."
She smiled and watched him from the corner of her eye as he leaned back into his chair. She lingered for a moment, waiting to see if he meant what he said or if he was going to space off or mess with Lee but surprisingly, he looked down to stare at her hands intently. She bit back a smile and began brewing. First, she added snake fangs to the simmering water before waving her wand and leaving it to brew for about 45 minutes. Next, she spent nearly 20 minutes in complete silence, meticulously crushing each of their ingredients into a fine powder and setting them aside.
Not once did she feel George's eyes leave her as she worked and even as she leaned forward, past the cauldron to double-check her textbook, she still felt his gaze. His eyes were soft and curious when she glanced over a few times, unable to fight off their magnetism. It felt like he was reading a fascinating book, or watching a particularly difficult chess match. Potions definitely weren't interesting to him, and yet he looked as though he was trying to memorize every flick of her wand and turn of her wrist. Normally, she would've turned and snapped at him but the knot in her stomach kept her mouth closed.
What did she say to him now? She only knew how to be mean to him but that sort of banter didn't feel right anymore, not with what happened yesterday. There wasn't anything too terribly different between them but tension-filled the space where a certain level of comfortability once was and she didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. She knew she was overthinking it but the silent suspense was slightly uncomfortable so she wracked her brain for a painless conversation starter.
"George," she said cautiously, leaning away from the desk and back into her chair.
"Yes, Violet?" He poorly tried to hide his excitement about her bringing his silence to an end.
"What other products are you and Fred working on," she asked. "Ones without potions, I mean."
He looked a little taken aback by her question but didn't seem to mind talking her ear off about all of their most recent inventions. He went on and on explaining their progress on the Peruvian darkness powder, a screaming yoyo, and Fred's idea for a tennis shoe that would let you walk up a wall.
She kept a keen eye on their potion while he spoke but it was difficult to turn away from the animated, smart, and witty wizard in front of her as he was practically buzzing with excitement.
"What about the black-eye telescopes?" She teased, eyeing him coyly.
"Oh right," he looked up at her sheepishly through his eyelashes. "We've put that one on hold as of late, due to an…unfortunate incident at the company."
"That's a shame," she mused, trying hard not to giggle. "I'd hate to have been the test subject for something you never even end up selling."
He looked up at her wide-eyed for a second before letting a wide grin form on his face in response to her official forgiveness.
"Well actually," he said. "We have been talking about marketing it as a boxing telescope, just because….it really did work so well."
"Hmm a boxing telescope," she said, pondering whether she really wanted to subject someone else to the garish bruise she had been left with. "I don't hate the idea but we will need to come up with some sort of bruise remover potion to go along with it and you'll need to take it down a notch so nobody else gets knocked out."
He reached into his pocket and scrambled to quickly pull out a tiny notebook, reaching over to grab a quill as he mulled over her words. She bit back a giggle and watched him with half-lidded eyes, unable to contain her fascination with the goofy man who was only capable of being serious about immature and foolhardy things.
"Bruise remover potion," he mumbled, biting his lip as he wrote.
She pulled her eyes away from George's furrowed brow and furious quill scratches to move their potion into the brass cauldron for one minute like the recipe said.
"Oh," she whispered. "While you're at it, I think you should make some more quills, like the one you gave me."
"What do you mean," he asked, without removing his eyes from the page.
"Well like more joke quills that would explode ink all over a test to give you some more time while the professor replaced it or a real one that could spell check essays," she offered absentmindedly as she moved the potion a final time into the copper kettle, before flicking her wand to finish it. "Just small things like that."
"That's brilliant," he stated, finally looking up at her.
He leaned forward and tapped the end of the quill on her forehead jokingly and she closed her eyes, letting an amused sigh escape her lips.
"What else are you hiding in there?"
He wiggled the feather between her eyebrows before holding it still against her skin. She squinted open one eye to watch George smile softly and meet her gaze. His eyes gave him away immediately and the reality of his gentle nature and kind heart hit her, all at once. Deep down, she knew who he was. When all the pranks, jokes, and boisterous outbursts slipped away he was…just George. Gentle, sweet, sometimes shy, George.
Their smiles faltered as neither moved away and she opened her eyes fully to take him in as his gaze flicked down to her lips. She couldn't tell if he'd been this way before, or if he had been hiding it from her and everyone else but every time they spoke, she could feel it peeking through more and more. If it wasn't there before, she wondered what had finally brought it out of him and silently concluded that it was probably Ginny's scolding that did the trick.
Her heartbeat fluttered as he suddenly moved the feather down the bridge of her nose, to the apple of her cheek before settling just under her bottom lip. She widened her eyes and begged him to say or do something to quell the ache in her chest but the transfixed boy didn't meet her gaze. She was thankful that her tongue seemed to be glued to the top of her mouth so that even if she fell even further into this trance of bad judgment, she wouldn't accidentally say something that was best kept in the deepest part of her mind.
He flicked the soft material down her jaw until it reached the side of her neck. The breath in her throat hitched at the touch and she bit back an embarrassing whimper. She wanted desperately to unclasp her tie and let him unbutton her shirt to continue his delicate assault on her senses. If she didn't know any better, she would've thought that George Weasley was trying to seduce her, in class, in front of Snape and the rest of their peers, in broad daylight. And that she was dangerously close to letting him.
The image of Snape witnessing the tender moment snapped her out of her trance and she cleared her throat. George dropped his hand and finally met her gaze, looking a bit shocked, like the classroom had just appeared around them, out of thin air. He shot her a shy smile but she turned away to bring the potion off of the heat before he could say anything. The tension in her chest suddenly alerted her that she'd been holding her breath since he'd moved the quill to her lips. Her chest heaved as she poured the potion into the bottles that Snape had passed around. A few other tables were already walking their finished products up to the professor's desk, so she took her time, hoping that Lee would sweep George off before he could acknowledge their awkward tension. Like always, her abilities in clairvoyance were spot on and the shorter, energetic Gryffindor was yanking the redhead away before he could utter another word.
She wordlessly watched them leave as soon as their backs were turned and then shuddered as panic crept in. She'd gotten so used to running away from him that it had never occurred to her what might happen when she stopped. Now, not only was she not fleeing away from him any chance she got but she felt anticipation whenever he was near. When he so much as lifted a hand she silently hoped that it was moving to make contact with her skin. When he spoke, she prayed to hear her name. Even when she saw him for the briefest moment, every other face in halls and classrooms disappeared from view. She'd been consumed by this feeling for so long and the only time it ever lapsed was as soon as their lips had touched in the library.
Snape came by her desk and gave her a congratulatory nod as he inspected the small bottle of cure for boils in front of her. She shot him a smile and scurried away without another word, not wanting to confront the small pang of guilt in her stomach for abusing her mentor's trust.
She rounded the corner and ran into Pansy Parkinson and a few other Slytherin girls talking loudly in front of the common room door. She smiled politely at their indifferent faces and quickly passed them, making a beeline for the stairs. Their excited twitters about plans for this weekend flowed up the stairs behind her, making her roll her eyes at the idea of going to a party in the Slytherin common room this Friday.
Oh Godric, Friday. She'd spent so much of her morning feeling nervous about seeing him in class but she'd completely forgotten that they'd be alone together on a Friday night in less than 72 hours.
Due to a swell of nerves and hours spent overthinking every possible outcome for Friday, the rest of her Wednesday, and Thursday bled together and went by in a blur.
She fidgeted through her remaining classes, being sure to avoid what she thought was a knowing glance from Fred or literally anyone else she saw. There was no way anyone knew and yet she was practically writhing with anxiety about simultaneous thoughts of kissing George again, not kissing George again, and everyone knowing that she kissed George.
Even meals and brief outings with Sadie flew by as most of the time was spent by Violet trying to casually ask her friend about relationships, while biting her tongue to avoid spilling her guts. Sadie did have a few bits of knowledge like how to make someone jealous, and other more lewd techniques, but nothing super helpful for a literal first-timer.
The library, her refuge, suddenly made her feel exposed and nervous so she only stayed when Hermione was there, and sat at the table next to the chipper witch, just in case George came for another romp on the chair.
She wasn't scared of him, or anything like that, but rather, had realized that when they'd kissed, she'd been driven by adrenaline and if they were just casually hanging out, instead of fighting, maybe it would be different. If she overthought kissing or god forbid…anything else, would it be any good? Another voice in her head reminded her of the possibility that George was well versed in things like this and might get bored with her lack of experience.
By Thursday night, she felt like she was going crazy from running through one terrible scenario after another so she tried to focus on only the things that she knew for certain, omitting all hypotheticals.
She rummaged around in her nightstand for the letter that George had written her, and stared at it in the dull moonlight flowing through the window. She read the words over and over and over again until eventually, she could hear his voice whispering the encouraging sentiments, in her ear.
No matter how many times she read it, her eyes always caught the same one line.
Your friend, George Weasley
She didn't consider them friends when he'd written it and even now, it seemed rather inaccurate. They weren't dating, but they weren't exactly friends either. The grey area wasn't as unsettling as it was a few weeks ago but now she was even more anxious to see which way they teetered next. Regardless of whether or not they were awkward or never kissed again, she felt kind of lucky. Lucky to have these two oddball misfits decide to enter her train car, and then randomly pursue her friendship because of some stupid potions advice. Especially lucky to have George make such an effort after she'd tried desperately to push him away. And even though it wouldn't — couldn't work out, she was lucky to have one perfect first kiss with a strange, passionate, beautiful man.
The next morning, she skipped the library and waited by the common room door instead, until she saw Snape coming down the hall towards the Great Hall for breakfast. Grabbing her key, and cursing at herself for breaking her mentors trust, she ran to the classroom and stuffed the leeches, fluxweed, knotgrass, and horn of bicorn into the bottom of her empty pewter cauldron and made a break for it.
Safely back in her room, she pushed all of the supplies into a bag and hid it under her bed before sprinting upstairs to breakfast, being sure that Snape saw her make an appearance. He hadn't spoken to her about the swelling solution ingredients that she'd used last week so she thought that maybe he wasn't checking his supplies as diligently as usual, or maybe the tournament was just providing an excellent distraction. Either way, she was glad he wasn't looking at her suspiciously in class, even though she wasn't sure how long it would last.
She spent the rest of Friday, in her room, tidying up the mess of clothes on the floor, trying to discern which were hers, and which were Sadies, doing homework, and rehearsing what casual things she was going to say to George.
She pondered what to wear for nearly an hour before deciding to let her hair down and dawn a cropped v-neck black sweater over a mid-length silk skirt that had a slit cut into it, that ran up the length of her leg, stopping just above her knee.
Sadie came to get her for a late dinner at 7 and only briefly tried to pester her about why she was wearing such a nice skirt and had such a heavy-looking bag for the library.
"Sadie," she said, deadpan. "Do I ever ask you where you're going or what you're doing?"
"No, but that's only because I always tell you!"
"I did tell you! I'm just going to the library," she said, hoping her friend would drop it.
"Ok fine, I believe you," Sadie nodded. "But I think you look far too good to spend your night there, and that's the last I'll say!"
"Thank you," she said, smiling as they walked to their usual spot at the end of the Slytherin table. "What did you get up to today?"
"Oh don't get me started Violet," she sighed, reaching across the table to help herself to some duck roast and potatoes. "Where do I even begin?"
As Sadie began recanting her day, Violet worked hard not to glance over her animated friend's shoulder at the Gryffindor table.
At 7:50, she bid her friend goodbye, trying to look casual and effortless as she picked up the incredibly heavy backpack off the seat next to her, and exited the hall. She stopped at the base of the moving staircase and looked up at her long way to go. Serves the Gryffindors right, she thought, the most annoying house get's the most annoying commute.
Each step felt more and more difficult as she was quite literally walking into something that she could never come back from. Every instinct screamed at her to go back but she pushed it all away and focused on counting the stone stairs, one at a time.
After getting stuck on the third floor for five minutes, and almost falling too many times to count, she emerged from the moving labyrinth and stood nervously at the bottom of the stairs, just out of view of the Fat Lady.
The knot in her stomach had been growing all day and just when she thought it couldn't get any tighter, she heard the portrait open, and click close. She peered around the pillar she was hidden behind and watched George gallop down the stairs, invisibility cloak in tow.