The beginning
Her long, raven-black hair whipped and danced in the icy wind, an ethereal shroud framing her angelic face. She stood in the embrace of the night, her visage half-veiled by shadows, the pale light of the crescent moon spilling over her porcelain skin like liquid silver. Her eyes, glinting with a haunting curiosity, followed the arc of a falling star. She raised her arms, the sleeves of her dark dress fluttering like wings, as though she longed to soar through the cold expanse of the heavens, chasing the burning comet.
Perched precariously on the edge of the balcony, she gazed down into the abyss below—a yawning void of shadow and stone. The thought of what lay beneath tantalized her. Death. A single word, simple and unyielding, yet wrapped in layers of mystery. She imagined the plunge, her body surrendering to gravity, the wind screaming past her ears until all was silence.
Death, the unknown ocean that swallowed all. Its waters were infinite and suffocating, dragging even the strongest swimmers into its depths. No one could escape its cold embrace. It was a secret that she longed to uncover—a reunion with her parents, drowned in that endless sea long ago. She wondered what truths were hidden behind the veil, what lay beyond the final breath.
Far away, under the same starlit sky, he stood—his thoughts also drifting to that unyielding ocean. The firmament above him was a canvas of scattered lampions, millions of tiny fires illuminating the abyss. Yet his thoughts were defiant. He promised the stars, the night, and the darkness itself: he would never drown, never succumb. Death would not claim him. He vowed to stay above the waves, unyielding, eternal.
"Violet!" The sharp call tore through her reverie, a voice from the warmth she had left behind.
"Yes?" she called back, though her voice was softer, a distant echo.
A figure emerged from the house, stepping onto the balcony. The man was tall and lean, his silhouette cutting sharply against the silvered night. His black hair gleamed like a raven's feathers, and his dark eyes fixed on her with a mixture of worry and frustration.
"What are you doing again?" he demanded, his voice heavy with both tenderness and irritation. He stepped closer, gripping her hand firmly, as though afraid she might leap into the void she admired so intently. "How many times must I tell you? Don't sit here. You could fall."
"And how many times must I remind you," she replied, sliding off the cold stone ledge, "that I'm not a child? I won't fall."
His grip lingered for a moment before he released her, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I have guests coming. Stay in your room. Understood?" He turned toward the glass doors, his reflection briefly catching the moonlight as he ran a hand through his sleek hair.
"Guests?" she asked, smirking mischievously. "What is it this time? A girl, finally?"
The corner of his mouth quirked into a faint smirk, the irritation melting slightly. "You're impossible, you know that?" he said, ruffling her hair as he moved toward the door. With one last glance over his shoulder, he added, "And lock these. Don't make me repeat myself."
"Bye, Julius," she said with mock innocence, waving him off.
Left alone, Violet turned her attention to the latest Daily Prophet sprawled across her desk. The bold headline screamed of yet another grisly murder—the fifth in the last month. Death Eaters, as they were called, were growing bolder. The Ministry's attempts to suppress the news had only made the chaos harder to ignore. This time, an entire Muggle family had been slaughtered. The details were scant, the Ministry tight-lipped, but the implications were horrifying.
As her eyes skimmed the page, murmurs drifted up from below. The voices were faint, muffled by the stone walls, but unmistakably male. Curiosity clawed at her resolve, stronger than the warnings of her brother. Quietly, she unlocked her door and stepped into the darkened hallway.
The voices grew clearer as she descended, her bare feet silent on the cold wood. Snatches of conversation reached her ears.
"...killed... mudbloods..."
The house groaned beneath her, the ancient wood aching under the weight of the night's secrets. Violet held her breath, clutching the banister with trembling fingers as the whispers from the kitchen below drifted up like venom. Shadows flickered against the walls, thrown into motion by the dim, wavering light of candles, their distorted forms twisting and clawing at the ceiling.
She crept to the edge of the staircase, her bare feet silent against the splintered wood. The scene below churned her stomach. The kitchen, once warm and familiar, was unrecognizable, corrupted into something dark and alien. A long, heavy table stretched across the room, its surface littered with decayed parchment and the remains of a half-burned map.
Around it sat figures cloaked in shadow, their faces obscured but unmistakably cold. Malfoy lounged in his chair, his smirk as sharp as broken glass. Nott leaned forward, his hands steepled under his chin, his eyes flicking across the room like a predator surveying its prey. Others she recognized from fleeting glimpses in the papers—Avery, Rosier.
But it was the man at the head of the table who pulled all the light from the room. His hood obscured his features, but his presence was suffocating, the air around him thick and stifling. Violet's chest tightened as he spoke, his voice a slow, deliberate rasp that felt like nails dragged over stone.
"Did you complete the task, Julius?"
At the man's left sat Julius, her older brother. His face was calm, his posture composed, but his eyes were hard, unfamiliar. The brother she knew had been a protector, a guiding hand, someone who had stood between her and the darkness. Now, he sat among it, a part of it.
"Yes, my lord," Julius replied, his voice steady and cold. "The Minister will soon step down. His parents' deaths were... persuasive."
The hooded figure tilted his head, his interest piqued. "And the message? Did they understand?"
"Oh, they understood," Julius said, his tone devoid of emotion. "The screams ensured it."
Violet's knees threatened to buckle. Her ears rang with the implications of his words, the image of blood and pain flashing behind her eyes. Julius couldn't have done this. He wouldn't.
But the room below told a different story.
She leaned against the wall, her chest heaving, her breath unsteady. A sudden creak beneath her foot betrayed her, the sound piercing the silence like a blade.
The conversation below stopped. Every head turned toward the staircase, their gazes predatory.
"Did you hear that?" Nott murmured, his hand drifting toward his wand.
Julius rose slowly, his movements precise and calculated. "I'll handle it," he said, his voice calm, but his eyes were sharp as daggers.
She scrambled backward, panic seizing her as his footsteps ascended the stairs, deliberate and heavy. Her back hit the wall as she searched for an escape, but there was none.
The moment he appeared, his eyes found her instantly. There was no surprise, no hesitation. Only cold certainty.
"Violet," he said softly, his tone almost gentle, as though addressing a child caught sneaking sweets.
"I—" Her voice cracked, her throat dry. "I didn't mean to—"
Before she could finish, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into the shadows. His grip was iron, unyielding.
"How long?" he demanded, his voice low, dangerous.
"I didn't hear anything," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
"Don't lie to me," he hissed, his face inches from hers. The warmth of his breath was a cruel contrast to the cold in his eyes.
Her gaze darted downward, catching a glimpse of his arm. The fabric of his sleeve had shifted, revealing the edge of something dark. Without thinking, she grabbed his wrist, shoving the fabric higher.
Her breath left her in a ragged gasp.
There it was. The Dark Mark.
The skull and serpent twisted together, black and seared into his flesh, a permanent brand of allegiance.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "No... no. Tell me this isn't real. Julius, please."
"It's real," he said, his voice steady, unyielding.
"You—you're one of them," she stammered, her words trembling like fragile glass. "You're a Death Eater."
