Violet suspected Voldemort would probably regret not telling his followers to stand farther back.
In the coming days, the inhabitants of a sleepy town nestled in the base of two mountains would gossip excitedly over the beautiful and strange display of lights. Lightning arcing up from the ground to the sky, brief flashes of exotic color—all followed by an unseasonably harsh winter storm—attracted small crowds in the snowy streets, normally desolate at that time. The town would even enjoy a brief period as a sort of meteorological tourist attraction as eager sightseers hoped in futility for a repeat of the event.
But that was then, and this was now, and a Killing Curse was speeding to Violet with a terrible sense of finality. The curse was almost upon her, and she hadn't moved in the slightest. A barely-there collective inhalation rose up from the watching Death Eaters—could it really be so easy?
The air creaked and groaned as it surrendered its moisture, and the green light of the curse crashed into a solid wall of ice, sending broken shrapnel in all directions.
Dissoluti Lux!
In response, Violet swept her wand in a wide arc. Golden light shone out, split by the ice like a mad kaleidoscope. Patches of grass blackened and died, and the Death Eaters scattered to evade the beams. Voldemort merely watched curiously as his own shadow, distinct in the moonlight, stretched upward and embraced him in its protective shroud.
"Impressive," he said softly, watching the last flickers of light burn away. "I had thought you might be content with your own unique form of magic. But no degree of power is ever enough, is it?"
"Avada Kedavra," Violet whispered. Voldemort swept his wand upward, and a great wave of earth intercepted the curse before crashing back down. But he made no immediate move to retaliate, a thoughtful expression coming over him instead.
"It need not end this way, you know. Your abilities are… intriguing, and precious few could have hoped to prevail against Bartemius and Bellatrix as you did. You could easily become the most honored member of my Death Eaters."
Violet laughed, throwing her head back. "I'm afraid such an arrangement would not suit me."
"Then what would?" Voldemort asked, sounding genuinely serious. "I am in no habit of wasting Wizarding blood, especially talent as great as yours. You are no idealist. You cannot possibly convince me that you oppose the future I offer out of some sort of moral indignation. So why have you, a remarkably pragmatic and intelligent witch, chosen a fight that is so inescapably futile? What would it take to convince you that there is a better path?"
"It wouldn't matter what you offered," Violet said, shaking her head. "Because, ultimately, you wouldn't allow anyone to think themselves your equal. And I would never accept you as my better."
"I suppose that sums it up quite well, doesn't it?" He nodded once. "Very well. I see there is no reason to continue this pretense. Die."
He made the slightest gesture of his hand, and suddenly Violet had spells coming at her from all directions, the Dark Lord's servants wasting no time in executing his command. She spat a frustrated curse and shielded against what she could, interposing whirling shards of ice where she couldn't.
A part of her had hoped that Voldemort would actually choose to fight her in single combat. Dumbledore had made a point of stressing his arrogance and constant drive to prove himself above all others. Regrettably, it seemed that between arrogance and assured victory, he would choose the latter. It was useful to know—know thy enemy, and all that—but it would have been nice to actually test herself on even ground against the immortal all-powerful Dark Lord whom she was apparently destined to war with until one of them was no more. Alas, she would have to wait a bit longer. The current situation called for more creative tactics.
A deep red spell struck her shield, producing a shrieking, scraping sound like nails on a blackboard as it ricocheted away. Literally dozens more followed suit, none managing to even weaken the Inviolable Shield. Even most Death Eaters were unable to cast multiple Killing Curses in rapid succession, forcing them to switch to curses simpler to defend against. But Violet could already feel the telltale throbbing beginning where her neck met her skull and the esoteric frame of mind required to maintain the spell starting to slip.
Rising to her full measure, Violet thrust her wand hand into the air, wispy trails of darkness clinging to her arm like strands of black silk. A hollow roar followed as cascading waves of freezing darkness billowed outward, spreading across the entire grounds. From the sky, sharpened hail began to fall, flung by growing winds. The steady assault of curses faltered as her enemies recoiled in shock.
A start, yes. But why stop there?
"Fiendfyre!" Violet cried, her wand tracing a broad circle above her head. She brought forth great waves of cursed flame that carved winding paths through the darkness as if it were a solid thing, streaming from her wand, erupting from earth, and descending from the sky. Not intending to make even the slightest effort to control the inferno, she was free to stoke it to an intensity she had never dared consider before.
The Fiendfyre spread in every direction, consuming all in its path, and what had previously amounted to little more than an execution was now devolving into chaos. Gathering Winter's power around herself and trusting it to ward off the worst of the flames, she concealed herself in the turmoil, flicking Killing Curses in every direction. There were certain advantages to being horribly outnumbered. These Death Eaters may have been too disciplined to curse each other in the confusion, but having to take the time to positively identify each cloaked figure before deciding whether or not to curse them could easily make the difference between life and death, especially when the world was wreathed in gloom.
A man, whose silver-embroidered robes seemed too fine for such an occasion, flourished his wand in ornate sweeps, steadily bringing the Fiendfyre around him to his will—until, that is, Violet's sword erupted from his chest. It seemed to take him a fraction of a second to even realize what had happened, such was his focus. But he didn't have long to consider his fate before the Fiendfyre, wrathful at his attempt to curtail it, engulfed him. Violet spun away back into the darkness, the end of her sword now heated to a dull red from its proximity to the flames. Falling snow hissed where it touched the metal.
While her sight was left nearly useless by Winter's dark cloak, her ears told a story her eyes could not. The Death Eaters breathed fast, stepped heavily, and shouted to each other in a largely futile attempt to coordinate. Violet deftly wove between them, most never realizing she was so near. Even those who had cast presence revealing spells would have no way of differentiating her from their allies. She cut an angle toward the wardline but far enough away from Tonks and Echo to avoid any potential complications. At this rate, she might just get away without them even needing to deactivate the wards.
Breaking into a full sprint, she continued, ducking a crackling spear of light on instinct alone, and turned into a particularly dense cloud of darkness to conceal herself. The gloom was so thick as to even muffle sound. A ball of hissing Fiendfyre in the form of a writhing mass of snakes burned not far from her, and she circled carefully around it.
A low hum filled the air, electric in its potential. Violet froze, listening intently. A moment later, pulsing white light flared, searing through darkness that would have suffocated lit magnesium. She stumbled, blinking desperately to clear her vision, utterly disoriented.
The most experienced duelists nearly always developed a sort of extremely short-term foresight, sometimes referred to as Duelist's Precognition. It was probably the only kind of Divination that could actually be relied upon and was also unique for appearing even in those who otherwise had no talent for the field. Most would never even recognize its existence, as its fraction of a second of warning had a tendency to merge with more natural instincts, but its presence was undeniable. Wizards like Voldemort or Dumbledore would never be felled by an assassin in shadow lurking. In her case, Winter's influence probably contributed a little as well. One way or another, it certainly had saved her life more times than she could count. This time, it just wasn't enough.
A fraction of a second later, Violet screamed, less from pain than sheer shock. Looking down, her vision returned just in time to see a serrated length of steel, about an inch wide, protruding from her stomach. It extended for multiple meters out of her, the steel slick and reddened with blood and parts of her body that really should have stayed on the inside. There must have been several more meters behind her, judging by the agonizing weight slowly dragging the wound wider. She sagged to one knee, finally relieving the pressure as the lance came to rest on the ground. Her sword slipped out of her hand first, falling into the accumulating snow, followed by her wand a moment later.
Ironically, she actually recognized the spell. Lacius Aetherium flung a ghostly gray spear that would pass effortlessly through any physical barrier before becoming solid inside its target. She'd never heard of it being serrated, though. Voldemort had clearly added his own personal touch.
Cold clarity and artificial strength soon followed as the strength of Winter surged through her, but it was too late to accomplish much beyond helping her recognize just how grim the situation was. Even the storm was beginning to wane in its intensity, her Winter power stifled by the iron driven through her body.
Oh…
Voldemort, looking very annoyed, stepped in front of her. A quick motion of his wand sent a ripple through the air and all the Fiendfyre, which the entire Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes would have struggled to control, guttered and burned out. Only glowing scars carved into the once scenic landscape remained.
"Enough," Voldemort hissed. "You will not escape me."
He reached out and grasped the spear, then began to slowly push. Violet groaned as more serrations cut her and grabbed it as well, holding it in place. Voldemort chuckled.
"All your might… your destined potential… the power of an inhuman race… All of it comes to this. The end."
He stepped squarely in front of her, grasping the spear firmly with both hands. Slowly, he began to increase the pressure, a cruel smile spreading over his face.
It was the casual arrogance of someone who was pointedly aware that he, through rite and ritual, had gained physical power beyond the limits of mere biology. Unfortunately, with that arrogance came the natural assumption that there could be no one stronger.
Winter roared in fury within Violet, and an impossible strength filled her limbs. Without a moment's hesitation, she forced the spear forward, screaming in agony and blind wrath as its blades shredded her flesh. But its needle tip shot forward and plunged into the base of his neck and out the back. Voldemort's eyes widened in surprise as his arms buckled and collapsed, the cold steel piercing him.
"You dare—" he rasped through his torn throat. His wand came up, but Violet's hand had already closed around her sword, raising it high—
The psychic weight that had pressed down on her since she first crossed the wardline vanished in an instant. Echo and Tonks had done it. She was going to live.
An unexpected surge of emotion rose in her. Death, to her, was an inevitability, one that scarcely mattered when it actually came. Any number set over infinity approached zero. But she really was terribly glad that her story wouldn't end today.
As Winter's power embraced her to spirit her away, Renée Malfoy caught her gaze, looking amused. It seemed they were to have a third encounter after all.
~#~
"Quick," Violet gasped, materializing next to Tonks in a flurry of snow, whose eyes widened at the sight of her. She had one hand pressed against the exit wound in her stomach, trying to hold everything mostly where it should be. But there was no doubt that recovering was not going to be pleasant, even for her. "Back to the Portkey."
"You survived," Echo said in a tone of wonder. "Circe…"
"Barely," Violet grunted. She was about to conjure a cloth to bind her stomach when she came to the distinctly disagreeable realization that while her sword was still clutched in her left hand, her right was empty.
She spat a word in the fae tongue that had no counterpart in English vile enough to properly convey its vehement profanity. "Wand's gone. Damn it."
She cast one last look back up the mountain before turning away with a sound of disgust and instead froze her own blood as a makeshift bandage. She hadn't had to do that since she learned to conjure, and the regression rankled. Voldemort would fucking pay. If it hadn't been personal before, it was now.
Flaring the power she did still have access to, she transported all three of them down to the site of the Portkey. After kicking through the snow for a few minutes to unearth the bedraggled book, they all put a hand on it and Tonks tapped it with her wand.
A brief and extremely painful transport later, Violet emerged kneeling on Dumbledore's rug, biting her tongue hard enough to fill her mouth with the taste of iron. Wiping the blood from her lip, she struggled back to her feet, gratefully leaning on Tonks when she offered an arm.
"Merlin, that doesn't look good," Tonks said. "We can't possibly go to Mungo's, the Ministry would have a field day." Looking rather disturbed, she added in an undertone, "And I don't think Mum would take it well after last time."
Violet pulled away from her, shaking her head. "Forget it. It won't be a problem for me." She glanced around the room. It was empty. She frowned. Where was Dumbledore?
Echo had wandered and seemed to be utterly entranced by one of Dumbledore's devices—a spinning, floating cube that seemed to have too many edges and corners and made Violet's head hurt when she looked at it. Violet eyed him reproachfully, too exhausted to say anything. It might not have been rational, but she rather blamed him for the loss of her wand. In her estimation, he owed her a quite monumental debt and thought perhaps he should be spending a little more time groveling and a lot less admiring magical oddities.
The door swung open and the most unwelcome sight of Snape leaned through. He sighed heavily. "Oh, wonderful. I suppose I should summon Pomfrey?"
"Fuck off," Violet snapped. "Where's Dumbledore?"
Like a bat unfurling its wings, Snape puffed himself up to deliver a biting reply, but Violet entirely ignored him, pushing past out the door and taking the stairs down. Considering her downright sensational mood, she might actually attack him if she waited for him to go off. Besides, her bed rated a lot higher as a priority than listening to the wanker who had apparently been stuck babysitting an empty office until they returned. She smirked at the sound of a muffled but rapidly escalating disagreement between him and Tonks. Let them figure out what the fuck to do with the wayward retired Unspeakable.
~#~
The next day started off on a shining note of positivity as she was torn from her blissful, healing sleep at an unholy hour of the morning by Granger conducting a hissed argument with, of all things, a bloody House-elf. The poor creature was cowering in absolute terror and seemed to be trying to sneak out of the room, whispering things along the lines of not to be seen by students and Wobbly is a good House-elf! Violet had half-reached for her wand with the intention of stunning everyone involved before remembering that it likely was currently in Voldemort's possession, if not already snapped. Then she noticed her intestines still appeared to be in a state of repeatedly knotting and unknotting themselves while they tried to figure out how they were supposed to go back together, and she started seriously considering striking Granger mute with a Winter curse and returning to sleep.
Then she remembered that she was meant to teach Defense for the fifth-years today and if Dumbledore still wasn't back that would mean Snape would have the opportunity to fill in. She could just imagine the silky smugness in his tone as he informed the class that she was regrettably too infirm to make an appearance but that he would, of course, be pleased to fill the role for as long as necessary—and maybe beyond, since the headmaster would clearly be reconsidering whether it was wise to take a student as an assistant. The thought immediately filled her with enough energy that she figured she could probably take on Voldemort again, even without a wand.
"Morning, Granger," she said. "I too find there's no more satisfying start to a day than tormenting something weaker than you."
Granger squeaked, startled, and gave her a reproachful look. "I'm not sure what you're implying, but I don't remember asking what you thought. I'm well aware that you probably don't have any problem enslaving an entire sentient—" Her eyes widened as Violet pulled off her sleep shirt. "God, what happened?"
"I tested one of Fred and George's concoctions. You think it might have been a bit overtuned?"
Taking full advantage of the distraction, the House-elf darted out of the room, tea towel aflutter. Granger seemed to deflate. "That's not very funny. And that looks really serious. What did you even do?"
Lavender snorted and turned in her sleep. Violet rolled her eyes and made a hushing motion; at least someone should be able to sleep in until the sun rose.
She buttoned her robes as she navigated the twisting corridors and stairways of Hogwarts. Despite moving with somewhat less spriteliness than normal, she was still one of the first to make it to the Great Hall. It was a bit ironic, as she certainly wasn't going to be having breakfast given her current state of internal flux. Instead, she took up a position away from the tables and engaged in an old hobby: watching people.
It was always fascinating to see how people interacted with each other. When she had first returned to the mortal world as child, she had observed others in the manner of a wolf that knew it could not afford to blend poorly among sheep. Now, it was more a matter of curiosity and entertainment. It wasn't as if she considered their affairs somehow meaningless or unworthy; the sheer vindictive pettiness found in a fae court could make teenagers look rational and forgiving. It was more a matter of looking on the other side of the fence—or through the arch, if you will. Few if any of them would ever know the triumph of victory against a deadly foe or the ultimate vitality of true freedom. On the other hand, none of them had been impaled the previous night.
Was such an existence enviable or pitiable?
Perhaps it didn't matter.
Violet slipped out of the Great Hall before it really filled up, deciding to skive off morning Transfiguration as well. It wasn't as if she could do any of it without a wand anyway. Probably she should take the time to visit Ollivander. It was hardly wise not to carry such a powerful weapon, especially in a time of war, but as irrational as it might be she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Her bond with her wand had been strong, yew delighting in the darkness of her magic and the Thestral hair in that, wherever they went, death was never too far away. It had been a wonderful wand, and even if Ollivander could source another wand made of Thestral hair—which as she understood it was by no means certain—it would have to be a remarkable wand indeed to replace what she had lost.
Bah.
Without any clear destination, she found herself standing before the Black Lake. Light snow was falling, the occasional flake caught by the dark curtain of her hair and remaining unmelted. The cold air and pristine coat of snow lent the land an ineffably wild air, and her reflection in the lake was so clear, so very alive, that she was certain that if she dove in she would emerge in Winter. For a moment, the idea tempted her. Some time away with Satria and the other fae would be simply lovely. The occasional melancholies she experienced in the mortal world never lasted long there, and everything seemed simpler. But then Snape's smirking visage returned to her, and the moment was lost.
Well, I suppose if Dumbledore's not here I may as well take advantage of it.
She grinned at the thought. She might still not have a wand, but at least Defense should be interesting.
~#~
"C'mon, come on, hurry it up." Violet clicked her fingers impatiently and glanced up at the sun to gauge the time. "We're going to be pushing it even with the double time slot."
The laconic procession of students shuffled through the snow with a distinct lack of excitement. Really, it wasn't as if it were Violet'sfault the earlier dusting had developed into a thick and heavy snowstorm. It could have been, but this time it actually wasn't. Besides, it really wouldn't be a good idea to try to do this indoors.
The general mood wasn't helped by the morning's news. Violet had only caught a few fragments of overheard conversation, but the previous night's distraction attacks had clearly been both brutal and indiscriminate. Even now, a few students sported puffy eyes and trembling expressions. Maybe a little competition would raise spirits a little.
"Right, that should do it," she said. Here in the shadow of the castle, the snow was a bit thinner and the wind less biting. "As you can no doubt tell, Dumbledore isn't here, again. Furthermore, as he has not seen fit to burden me with a lesson plan, I thought we could do something a bit more interesting than memorizing more bloody OWL counterjinxes."
Even Granger looked a bit up at that. Even though Umbridge had been history for weeks, the suggestion of practical Defense work still held a slightly taboo allure.
"I, for one, always find the subjects your lectures enthralling," said Draco Malfoy in a tone obviously meant to be heard by everyone there. "I don't see what Dumbledore brought in the first place. He can stay gone for all I care."
"Sure about that, Malfoy?" Ron responded, ever eager for a confrontation. "Seeing as he's probably off putting your dear daddy in Azkaban? Or the ground?"
Surprisingly, Malfoy didn't immediately rise to the bait. Instead, he seemed to find the suggestion genuinely amusing.
"Watch yourself, Weasley… Between your father and mine, I don't think I'm the one who should be worrying. You should probably write him while you have the chance."
"Whoa, whoa, hold it," Violet said, pre-empting the simmering eruption brewing in Ron. "Love the spirit, but save it for the main event, yeah?"
The tension temporarily diffused in lieu of confusion, Ron frowned. "What're we doing, then?"
"You," Violet said, "are dueling. Each other. Forget your OWLs. Let's see who's really taking this seriously."
Excited murmurs broke out as some of the bolder students—nearly all of the Gryffindors—grinned and nudged each other. A few looked a bit more apprehensive. One, a slight Ravenclaw girl who looked completely lost in her fur robes stuck her hand up. "Do we have to? All of us?"
Violet sighed. Dumbledore let her get away with quite a bit, but somehow she thought forcing unwilling students into dueling wouldn't go over well with him. "If you really want to sit around for hours doing nothing, fine. You can write a paper on the tactics used and their effectiveness. Now, who's participating?"
Nearly every student stepped forward, some excited, others looking deadly serious. A few of the Slytherins seemed positively hungry, and Violet was sure that they at least would not be dueling for the first time today. It was astounding to Violet that Hogwarts didn't have dueling as part of its normal curriculum. Having an entire population walking around with lethal weapons and no idea how to effectively use them was baffling to her. Even the most outwardly placid of the fae could have a nasty bite.
Even the holdouts joined in eventually, weighing safety in numbers against the prospect of an additional assignment.
She was particularly interested in seeing how Ron did. After being unceremoniously knocked out on Halloween, he had thrown himself into his studies with an arguably obsessive fervor.
"What're the rules?" someone asked.
Violet hesitated. It was a slight possibility that she hadn't made it quite that far in her plan. Like with forcing students to participate, she suspected the kind of underground dueling she used to participate in might peeve Dumbledore slightly.
"All right," she said after a minute. "It's like this. First person to concede, be disarmed, or otherwise rendered unable to fight loses. Single elimination, and we'll go until a clear winner remains. The only other thing to keep in mind is the Pomfrey rule."
"What's that?"
Violet smirked. "It's the 'I don't want to have to explain anything to Pomfrey rule.' So don't cast anything that makes that a possibility. If you do hurt someone badly enough for that, I will be distinctly peeved and personally ensure that you too get the opportunity to pay her an extended visit. Understand?"
A slightly hesitant sound of agreement came from the students. Dryly, Violet added, "Also bear in mind that if the powers that be decide I'm not suitable to teach, you'll have to suffer through Snape until Dumbledore gets back. Just a bit of extra motivation to keep things reasonable."
That got a few laughs. Violet gestured briefly, and a section of snow a hundred meters square sank as if crushed by a titan's boot, providing footing much steadier than the previous fluff. A twist of the wrist, and the area was enclosed by thin blades of blue light erupting from the ground, fading off about a meter up. The air above rippled slightly as if from a heat haze. A few people gasped.
"Second rule," Violet said. "If anyone casts anything unpleasant enough to make it through the shield, they have to duel me."
Quickly drawing up a bracket in her head sure to yield some interesting matchups, she pointed twice.
"Abott and… Zabini."
Fifteen seconds later, Zabini was twirling Abott's wand between his fingers before tossing it back and sending Violet a lazy salute. Abott looked a bit relieved to have been eliminated so early and quickly shuffled off into the crowd.
Zabini was a bit of an odd sort, as Slytherins went. He shared the same circles as the students virtually guaranteed to get a tattoo sooner or later, but as far as she knew, none of his family had ever been implicated. Of course, marrying his mother seemed to be a statistically unhealthy choice, but Violet wasn't one to throw stones.
The next few duels proceeded without any drama, tears, or demonstrated skill to speak of. A pair of older students with a free period showed up at some point, watching from a distance. Apparently, the last time Hogwarts had tried to hold any sort of organized dueling, it hadn't ended well.
Once the first round was complete and most of the remaining competitors were actually trying to win, Violet suspected things might just start to get interesting.
"How about… Weasley and Malfoy."
Malfoy chuckled and muttered something under his breath that made Ron flush. Both were utterly fixed on each other, and Violet took the precautionary measure of pouring a little more power into the shield. Amusingly, they both seemed to think that she had done them a favor by pairing them against each other.
"Begin," she said with feigned disinterest. To some extent, the whole tournament had been to find out just how good Ron was getting… and what Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had taught their son.
"Entomorphis," Malfoy whispered, tone soft and dark. The hex, if it landed, would turn Ron into a sort of mutant insect but wouldn't actually end the duel. He wasn't looking to finish this quickly.
"Protego! Depulso!"
Malfoy stepped out of the way, though the Banishing Charm still managed to disturb his coiffed hair. "Is that it?"
"Incarcerous!"
"Finite Incantatem," Malfoy responded. "Flipendo! Lamentatio!"
The last spell, a vivid and deep blue, caught Ron's pinwheeling arm as he tried to avoid it. Immediately, his eyes grew red, swollen, and streamed with tears. He wiped at them, a furious expression on his face.
Moreso than in any of the previous fights, there was a real sense of excitement among the spectators. Whether it was because of the symbolic message of someone who openly supported the Dark Lord against someone who openly didn't or just because everyone really loathed Malfoy, a lot of the students seemed very invested in the duel's outcome.
"Kick his arse, Ron!" Finnigan bellowed. "Feckin' bastard."
Malfoy gave Finnigan an irritated look before returning his attention to Ron. "Really, Weasley? Even your sister must have put up a better fight against the Heir."
Oh dear.
Violet suddenly had a brief but painfully vivid premonition of the future. If she'd had her wand, she could have stopped it. But by the time she realized her reflexive reach would close only on air, she was too late to conjure any shield of Winter magic and could only watch in great frustration as visions of a gloating Snape danced in her mind.
"RADIUS CALOR!"
Malfoy, to his credit, didn't panic. He jumped aside, but the sparking white projectile trailed by black smoke twisted to follow him. Eyes widening, he cast an impressively quick shield, but there wasn't a chance in hell a simple Protego would be enough.
The curse connected with the fragile shell of Malfoy's shield and erupted in a burst of red, flash-melting the snow for a meter in every direction. The worst of the curse was clearly absorbed, as Malfoy wasn't instantly reduced to charcoal, but his robes scorched and ignited. With an ungainly yelp, he threw himself into the snow, rolling to extinguish the fire. The crowd erupted into a manic uproar.
Parkinson shrieked and literally fainted; the rest of the Death Eaters-in-training swarmed forward to surround Malfoy, glaring at the Gryffindors, Violet, but mostly Ron, with wands drawn.
Recognizing that involving herself in that would be unlikely to improve the situation, Violet started pulling Ron away, who just stared unresponsively at Malfoy lying in a pool of steam and snow.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Violet hissed, dragging him by his arm away from the Slytherins. "You pull this shit and it doesn't look good for me, you understand? It's not going to take a leap of logic to figure out who taught you that. Bloody hell, couldn't you have waited until there weren't any witnesses?"
"Ouch—Merlin, your fingernails are sharp." He wilted under her stare and looked down. "Sorry. Fuck me, I'm sorry. I just—you heard what he said—"
"I saw you let yourself be manipulated. Do you really think you didn't give Malfoy exactly what he wanted? Maybe he didn't expect a lethal curse, but he was clearly baiting you. What exactly do you think would happen if you had managed to turn him into a pile of soot?"
"I didn't," Ron bit out.
"Didn't what?"
"Didn't think. Is that what you want me to fucking say?"
Violet snorted. "Well, I'd prefer if you revealed that this was actually part of some grand masterplan, but failing that, I'll have to settle for you admitting just how stupid it was."
"Everyone knows that bastard's basically already a Death Eater. Why in Merlin's name are they still letting him in Hogwarts? And then he started talking about Ginny, and Bill's still not back after last night, and—and—"
Then something terrible happened. Ron started to cry again. Ugly, emotional crying. Violet grimaced. She really should have just slept in.
AN:
pinks99: You're absolutely right about the solstice/equinox mixup. Thanks for letting me know, though I think I'll just let it stand since makes it such a pain to edit chapters. I also really appreciate all the reviews!
On the suggestion of a member of my discord, I have decided to mirror Sleet and Hail to AO3. If you prefer that formatting, you can find it at LINK. There will be no difference in the story's content between sites. I'm still in the process of uploading chapters there, but it should be caught up in a few days.
As a reminder, you can join the discord at LINK if you want to pre-read chapters, discuss the story, give your thoughts or suggestions in a more responsive format than a review, share your own work, or just chat.
If you're re-reading, you may notice that I edited this chapter to remove the reference to Marietta Edgecome, who I now realize is not in Violet's year. No other changes were made.