Hi everyone! Thanks for reading, like always. So sorry for the late update, I've been moving and hadn't found the time to write much this month. This chapter is a little shorter but I think it's got enough substance to hold you over until the next chapter when we get to THE YULE BALL! Thanks, for all your engagement and patience! Let me know what you think!
In the reflection of the lake, her face wasn't recognizable. Strange eyes behind a black mask stared at her in the still waters. She blinked and it changed again. New, evil eyes staring back.
"Stop," she breathed, fearful to look again. Fearful that George would see.
He rustled behind her, asking her to come back; to stay.
She wanted to, desperately but each blink revealed new eyes, none her own, until she squeezed them tight, willing her own reflection to appear.
Please come back, she whispered. Let me be with him.
Carefully, she opened her eyes, relieved to see the black mask gone, horrified to find yellow eyes glued to a scaled face. Her mouth opened to scream but a snake-like hiss was all that came out.
When she turned around, George was gone.
Violet jolted awake, clawing at her face, frantically searching for the familiarity of her own features.
The length of her forehead felt the same; cheeks and chin too. Her nose, however, felt foreign.
It was cold, slippery, and — wet.
She jumped out of bed and fled through the hall, fumbling into the pitch-black bathroom. Thankfully the cover of night kept her hidden from the daunting reflective surfaces lining the walls.
She dunked her head beneath the cold spouting spigot, furiously breathing from her mouth.
The charmed torches finally sensed her presence and illuminated the mess of a room.
There was blood everywhere.
She'd done a terrible job at cleaning her bloody nose and face, instead smearing deep crimson all over the green and black marble sink.
Violet sighed in exhaustion and sunk to the floor, placing her head in her hands.
It was a mess.
Everything was a mess.
Every day of the week since last Friday had miraculously been worse than the last.
After their moment in the woods, she'd hoped for a truly new beginning with George, but it felt more like a goodbye, than anything.He hadn't spoken to her in a single one of their classes all week.
Her consolation prize was attempting to get more information out of Vasily. Getting him to talk had been like pulling teeth, and then when he did, his words were careful, guarded, and useless. Maybe he realized that he'd said too much last weekend or maybe he hadn't liked her enough to continue their repertoire. Not that she particularly minded. Their charade would be up in less than a week when the Yule Ball came and went.
And then tonight, another nail in her coffin. It'd been his idea, their partnership together, and then he didn't even show up to finish the polyjuice potion. Fred was a fine companion for an hour but the company was her last link to George and now he didn't even seem to want that anymore.
The floor was cold but her body didn't protest. It pricked her skin with a sharpness that fully awoke her body but kept her mind numb. Normally, the weekend before Christmas break would be more than welcome. She had trips to Hogsmeade with Sadie planned, the next round of products to create, books to read, the Yule Ball to fret over, and overall a lot of relaxing to do. In a normal year, it was heaven. Now, it felt hollow.
She dozed off on the floor until the lanterns extinguished themselves and tried to clean up before light exposed the gory mess she'd made. The blood had dried to the sink and she'd forgotten her wand so she cleaned the laborious way. By the time she made it back to bed, the sun was peeking through the thin window. She drew the curtains so it wouldn't wake Sadie on the first day of their week of rest.
The heavy sadness in her chest led to a night of easy sleep, even though the world was still waiting for her when she woke up.
Saturday morning was a repeat of the last one. Arduous hours in the library, just to have something to do.
Her Yule Ball dress peeked out of the closet as she got ready, begging to be tried on but the thought made her skin crawl. The deep purple velvet was beautiful but she'd wanted to wear it for someone else. Vasily wouldn't giggle at it for being her namesake, or compare the color to her black eye, or even suggest they skip the Yule Ball so he could peel the purple petals off of her. Not that she would let him.
She escaped to the library before the dress could coax her any closer.
The brutish Bulgarian champion had successfully driven Hermione away from the library and into another hiding spot so as usual, her alcove was empty and waiting. Hoping for some good luck with George, she decided to sit in her chair for the first time in a long time.
It welcomed her back with open arms and tainted memories. She only lasted an hour before becoming impatient and unable to stare at the alcove's empty entrance any longer. There was absolutely no reason to think that George would come and find her today, or any day but delusional hope had become her only saving grace since he'd dropped her off in the dungeons last Friday night.
The window sill was uncontaminated, so she landed there, reading, staring off into space, and sinking into the brain fog that'd rolled in due to the soft glow shining through the towering gothic window. It illuminated the small room in an annoying shade of orange that made daydreaming difficult to avoid.
Her most recent fiction book lost its luster a few hours later but solitude demanded she stays in the library.
The brain fog remained thick and unmoving, not being helped by the overwhelming sense of warmth that left her fighting off an impending cat nap.
Sleep almost had her when a familiar voice from outside pulled her back.
She sluggishly opened her eyes to peer out onto the courtyard, hoping she'd heard wrong.
It was another delusional hope, seeing as she'd recognize that voice anywhere.
Pansy Parkinson was indeed standing in a corner of the courtyard, speaking harshly at someone, surrounded and encouraged by her pack of Slytherin girls.
Violet rolled her eyes. The dark-haired girl had yet to learn the intense peace and serenity that came with minding her own business. Her lids flitted closed again briefly before a voice rose against Pansy's and made her choke on nothing.
Violet pressed against the window, squinting hard, hoping that it was anyone else.
No. No. No.
Pansy moved to her left just enough for Violet to make out the small redhead still seated on a stone bench, with a book in hand.
Ginny, always with a brave face and her head held high, said something back at the sneering girls. It was admirable, heroic, and all the things she'd come to expect from the youngest Weasley, but she was going to get herself killed.
Violet frantically glanced around the courtyard looking for Potter or any other redhead coming to her rescue but saw none. Seconds ticked by at a snail's pace. Blood rushed to her ears, drowning out their words, and the library's shuffle around her. This wasn't going to end well.
Just as she thought it couldn't get worse, Malfoy and his crew slinked out of whatever dark hole they'd been in, to watch from across the courtyard. Common sense told her to stay put or flee deeper into the castle, away from dividing allegiances. But then Pansy knocked the girl's book from her hand, and something fiery flickered in Violet's chest.
This was Ginny.
Bristling frustration brought her to her feet. Her reflection stared back through the tinted glass.
She knew what Pansy and her posse were like, especially around Malfoy. Even if there wasn't any violence, even if they ended things shortly and Ginny escaped with all her limbs intact, the words — names might linger. Even if another Weasley came along in defense, or anyone else saved her, she'd watched and let it happen.
Her reflection blinked. She'd have to watch herself, watch.
There was a bad taste in her mouth. Pennies, or bile or self-loathing.
She couldn't watch Ginny get berated by her housemates and do nothing. Regardless of her last name. Regardless of the consequences.
The thought of tough, charming, sweet, Ginny being cut down by her housemates, in front of her, made her legs move before she could conjure a second thought.
Self-preservation, be damned.
House loyalty, be damned.
She took one last look at Malfoy, who showed no signs of leaving and sprinted out of the library.
Adrenaline pounded through her head and veins, as she breezed down the main hall and stairs, ignoring calls from passing professors and peers to slow down. Green ties bled into red, molted into yellow, dissolved into blue. All equally in her way.
With one last push, she rocketed into the courtyard and pushed through the small crowd towards Ginny, just as the redhead stood up and raised her voice.
Ginny jumped as she materialized beside her. A fiery blaze was lit behind her eyes, not that she'd expected anything less.
"Go on Wilkes, push her over here," Pansy yelled, laughing and turning to acknowledge the taunts coming from the boys behind her. Pansy was younger than Violet but her early alliance with Malfoy and the other pure-blood pack made her outrank almost every other Slytherin girl, except maybe Sadie.
Violet squinted, meeting her housemate's harsh eyes. She wondered if this was really who she was, or if it was all just because Malfoy was watching. Pity was the emotion that came to mind but then again, she couldn't judge someone for letting peers dictate their actions. She'd done the same.
But now she was done.
"Shove off," Violet spat, stepping in front of the youngest Weasley, staring down at Pansy, thankful for the few inches she had over the girl.
The Slytherins stared at her like she'd grown a third head. Pansy opened her mouth, beginning a snarl but another voice drew their attention away.
"Have you lost your head, Wilkes," Malfoy inquired across the courtyard.
Violets heart jumped into her throat. Nerves bristled the hairs on her arms and made her legs jelly.
If there was a time to stand her ground, it was now. Ginny's wellness depended on it. But unfortunately, so did hers. Old Violet, from many months ago, would've flinched at his nasal drawl but this Violet, didn't even blink. It was bravery, she realized. It was so foreign because there had never really been anything for her to fight for. A roar brewed in her chest. If this is what Gryffindors always felt like, she didn't envy them.
"Leave her alone," she hissed at Pansy, ignoring Malfoy's looming figure splitting the crowd.
Ginny stepped closer to her, mumbling something about being alright but Violet was frozen under Malfoy's glare.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you prefer the company of those in a lower class," he sneered, eyeing Ginny's hand on her arm.
All things considered, the insult wasn't brutal but she was not looking forward to seeing what else he could pull out of his sleeve.
"Malfoy," she nodded, acknowledging him with disdain.
His eyes squinted and for half a second, it looked like he was going to let it go. Perhaps it was their age difference, or maybe because she was considerably larger than him but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, other voices cut through the crowd.
"Oi, move out the way! Ginny is this — oh," Fred, bellowed over the crowd. Stopping short to take in the odd confrontation configuration.
"Vi," George breathed, coming up behind him.
Her stomach sank at the nickname. She turned away from them, praying that Malfoy hadn't heard it, but his eyes were on her face, mischievously twinkling and newly focused. There was no way he'd let it go now.
"Enjoying your time with all the Weasley's, are you?"
She didn't answer. The Slytherins roared in laughter, clearly finding the situation unbelievable. Fred and George joined Ginny and exchanged confused glances with one another.
"I thought you knew better than to make friends with scum," Malfoy chuckled. "But what can you expect from a filthy half-blood?"
"Don't call them that," she hissed, taking a step towards him and regretting it immediately.
A hand caught her shoulder, steadying the anger that almost made her slap him across the face. She didn't need to turn around to know it was George. Again, Malfoy read between the lines and heard the unspoken. His smirk sent chills through her body.
She knew what was to come but it was too late to stop it. George's hand tightened and whatever happened next was worth the fact that he'd thought to stop her; that he cared. At least there was a time when he thought of her fondly, maybe even out of love. It was worth the forthcoming animosity and hatred. She'd hang on to him as long as he'd let her, even if it was as enemies once more.
Malfoy's lips quirked.
"I wonder if they know," he inquired slowly, taunting her.
"Shove off, Malfoy," Fred said.
Malfoy's eyes squinted in slow motion.
"Did she tell you," he sneered, eyeing the twins above her like prey. "About her uncle?"
Her heart fluttered.
"Don't," she whispered, silently begging for mercy.
"Didn't think you would," he laughed, ignoring her words and turning to the Slytherins around him who were hanging onto every word. "Scared your Gryffindors won't want you when they find out your dirty secret, Wilkes?"
"Stop it."
His lips curled into an unhinged smile. Her resistance was making it more fun for him. Why couldn't she walk away?
"Let's put their bravery to the test, shall we?"
Why won't you move?
"Enough."
His face became humorless and she became made of lead.
"No, I don't think it is," he sneered, coming close to her face. "Either you tell them, or I will."
She prayed for a lapse in his cruelty, a stroke of kindness, a stray lightning bolt, anything to stop him. He waited patiently for her to spin the awful tale herself but deep down they both knew she wouldn't — couldn't.
Just walk away.
"I'll enjoy this," he said, nodding menacingly before tearing away from her glare. "A rather low-level Death Eater, your uncle, wasn't he Wilkes?"
The words hit like a stinging jinx. She knew it was coming and yet shock set in. The prick was severe and sharp. The ground moved beneath her.
He'd actually said it.
It'd been the worst-case scenario for so long and now that it was happening, with George in earshot, it felt unreal.
A dream.
A nightmare.
Leave. Leave. Leave.
"Not that it matters now, seeing that he's rotting in an unmarked grave somewhere," he laughed again, honing back in on her eyes. "Ever think about avenging him and taking the dark mark for yourself?"
There were a few gasps from the small crowd but they were overpowered by the laughter of her housemates, eyeing her with new interest.
The hand on her shoulder disappeared. She counted the blood vessels in Malfoy's eyes to stay calm and willed them to burst.
"It's a pity," Malfoy spoke again, softer, more menacing. "I guess average runs in your family, just look at your father."
Walk away.
"You're foul," she hissed, wishing him dead.
"And you've got Death Eater blood in your veins," he said quietly enough for only her and the Weasley's to hear.
His words rang through her head.
Death Eater blood….
His blood. Theirs.
They were the same, she realized.
Malfoy and her.
Staring at him now felt…transformative. He was living up to his legacy quite nicely by all accounts. Following in the footsteps of his father before him with precision, diligence, and cruelty. She could too if she wanted. Even labeled as a half-blood, she could fall in line because they had the same Death Eater blood.
His eyes bore into hers; grey and searching.
He wanted to see a flicker of pain - of hurt - maybe even shame. She'd felt them all but strangely, not at this moment.
With all of it out in the open, she felt proud, to stand on the other side of it.
To him, maybe even to everyone else, she was tainted, scorned, perhaps even destined for evil but opposing him made her feel strong.
It was her heart, she realized, feeling its anxious flutter. That was the difference. That was what made her different from the stone-eyed boy, quivering with anger in front of her.
"Same as you then," she smiled, feeling free of the shackles that had bound her to silence.
The words burst forth, angrily sharp and heavy with truth.
It was common knowledge and she certainly wasn't the first to bring it up but like always, it struck a nerve.
His wand was out before she finished the sentence but it wasn't pointed at her.
The girl behind her gasped a little and then Violet's mind went blank.
Her fist curled before his lips even had a chance to move. It took all her might to actually go through with it but once the momentum was on her side, it was his turn to look fearful.
The next noise out of his mouth was a painful yelp.
It felt like closing a door. Slamming it in the face of something intrusive and evil. The satisfying cack was the iron bolt clicking into place, ensuring that nothing could ever come through again.
Truthfully, she didn't really need to punch him but a little voice in the back of her head who sounded eerily similar to Sadie said, "why not?"
Malfoy's bloodied face was a pleasant surprise but the sudden attention was not. She'd never felt so many eyes on her at once. Some were in horror, others in amusement, but the ones that mattered, she couldn't decipher. Panic maybe, as they locked on her before pulling her away from Malfoy on the ground.
The pain from her hand made everything else a blur.
A professor yelled something from a distance. It might've been Moody but the feeling of strong arms lifting her up grabbed her attention. George's face was stoic as he swung her into a bridal carry and shuffled out of the courtyard, and into a corridor away from the conflict. Her peers didn't give her a second glance as she disappeared through the threshold.
The arms gently set her onto a bench, hidden from prying eyes.
Noises continued but she couldn't hear a thing
Her ears wrung.
Ringing. Ringing.
Incessant ringing until her favorite voice floated through, breaking the trance of shock.
"Vi," George murmured, kneeling in front of her. He looked at her critically like a Doctor inspecting a patient. She could've giggled if it wasn't for the searing sting of her knuckles.
"Hi," she squeaked. The greeting must've caught him off guard because he raised his eyebrows and started looking seriously at her head instead of her hand.
He smiled softly. "Hi, are you alright?"
She nodded, mesmerized by the way his hair fell in front of his face as he looked down.
Bravery felt foreign on her tongue and in her veins. The effect was invigorating.
There was a glimmer in his eye as they sat looking at each other. It felt like the first time he walked through the train carriage door, looking for trouble and finding her instead. It felt like they were seeing each other for the first time. She knew George would've done the same thing if she hadn't gotten there first and for that she admired him. The glimmer of pride was unmistakable. He admired her too.
"Let me see your hand."
The hallway came into focus as his hand touched hers. Ginny appeared next to her and she noticed Fred standing watch a few feet away, making sure no one had followed.
"Does it hurt," George asked, squeezing her hand.
She winced. Pain shocked her system, bringing tears to her eyes and a sob to her throat. Triumph did have a price and as the adrenaline left her system, she stared at George with sudden worry.
"For fucks sake, Wilkes," Fred chuckled, walking back towards them. "I didn't know you had it in you."
She wanted to laugh, cry, question if they'd heard the truth. George held her gaze, and her hand, his thumb working a soft soothing pattern into the knuckles that would surely be bruised tomorrow.
"I didn't either," she breathed, relishing at the moment when George's eyes danced to her lips.
The urge to kiss him was searing but soon broken.
"Is it true," Ginny asked, breaching the awkward fog. Her voice was small and uneasy like she didn't want to ask.
Violet wished she hadn't but knew it was inevitable.
George looked at her with the same question and an uncomfortableness permeated through the small hallway. There was no use in lying.
It was nice while it lasted, she thought, but they'd heard right. She took her time before answering, to soak in the proximity to George one last time.
"Yes," she sighed, pulling her hand out of his before she had to watch him snatch it away.
There was no explanation for her to give. They'd heard the whole story; all the important parts anyway but she couldn't bear to feel their stares any longer.
"I…I," she stammered, standing to face the three confused Weasleys. "I never meant for you to know… about any of it — I'm so sorry."
She held her breath and fled, hoping that they wouldn't follow her.
The library welcomed her back, seeing as it was the only safe option at the moment.
The moment her knuckles made contact with Malfoy's jaw nose in her mind as she settled back into the window nook.
Freeing.
Deserved.
A long time coming.
But ultimately, devastating.
Her newfound freedom came at the cost of all her social capital, and ability to fly under the radar. She didn't need to hear the whispers of her peers as George pulled her off of the evil blonde to know what they were saying.
She was a deranged, descendent of Death Eaters. But with no familial sway or years of bullying others into submission, it was not as easily forgiven.
It was a sin. One that she couldn't repent for, in the eyes of some.
Rightfully so, perhaps.
"Violet."
She jumped and looked up at the hall. A sigh of relief was all she could muster in response to Sadie coming around the corner. Her presence calmed the anxious thoughts for a moment until she opened her mouth again.
"What the actual fuck," Sadie hissed, speed walking to where she sat by the window. "Has everyone gone mad or did you punch Malfoy in the courtyard not thirty minutes ago?"
She held out her bruised hand and nodded, unsure of what to say.
"Bloody hell," Sadie breathed in shock, alternating between staring at her knuckles and eyes.
"Sades — "
"I am seething with jealousy," she bellowed. "Violet you're my hero — "
"Listen did —"
"How did it feel? Are you a changed woman? Did he cry — "
"I don't know but — "
"I can't believe I fucking missed it — "
"Sades," she stopped her friend mid sentence and grabbed her hand, wincing at the pain. "Did they tell you why?"
In all her years worrying about who knew what, she never thought about what her dearest friend would think. Her companionship and loyalty hadn't ever budged but this wasn't some petty gossip — this was real. Some would argue it was life and death, good and evil. But Sadie didn't even flinch.
"Duh, what kind of half-assed gossip do you think I am," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You have a shitty uncle or something."
"He was more than just shitty….he was — he was a Death Eater, Sades."
Her friend waved her off again, showing no signs of concern.
"Yeah well, Malfoy's about ten minutes away from being one too so who cares?"
Sadie babbled on, holding her hand and miming Malfoy's crying face. She felt silly for ever thinking she would be upset. As they spoke, Violet became keenly aware that the third revelation of the incident seemed to be forgotten.
Sadie didn't mention the Weasley's once. That had started it all and yet, the rumor mill didn't bite. For better or for worse, Sadie still didn't seem to know.
It was one less thing to explain, so she didn't bring it up as they made it back down to the dungeon later that evening.
"I hope he's waiting for you," Sadie murmured, as they neared the common room door.
"Take that back," she hissed, holding her friend tight.
"No," Sadie whispered. "I want to punch him too."
They winced as the stone slab moved to the side, revealing the few students inside. Those lounging and milling about looked up briefly, and then did a double take.
Nerves set in but thankfully, Malfoy and Pansy, were nowhere in sight.
Her peers glares didn't budge as they made their way through the room. Violet kept her eyes on the floor but Sadie seemed to have no problem staring anyone and everyone down. She guessed that that was the only reason no one yelled anything out about the bad apple that'd been in their midst the whole time.
"Ignore them," Sadie whispered as they passed into the girls dorm.
She couldn't resist one last look before disappearing through their door.
Her peers didn't look upset, or scared. An odd, collective, intense gaze followed her. They seemed intrigued, she realized, almost curious. At that moment, they looked eager for her to speak, or move in a way that confirmed what they had heard. Some stared at her covered forearm, others looked for a flicker of evil inside her eyes.
She'd give them no such satisfaction.
She was Violet Wilkes. Niece of a Death Eater, 6th year Slytherin, potions genius, and decidedly, not evil.