A dark turn
The train lurched to a halt, its screeching brakes tearing through the stillness of the station. The rhythmic chugging of its engines echoed through the cavernous emptiness of Platform 9 ¾, a sound that once spoke of adventure, now merely a harbinger of something darker. Violet stirred groggily, her eyelids heavy from the sudden wakefulness that had been thrust upon her by Barty. She blinked, adjusting to the dim light that flickered from the tired old lampposts, their glow casting long, jittery shadows across the station.
Once bustling with families and the excitement of young students embarking on their journeys, the platform now felt abandoned, eerily quiet. The cold seemed to hang in the air, and the faint smells of cigarettes and alcohol mingled, giving the place a rank, forgotten aura. The wind kicked up, swirling crumpled newspapers and discarded wrappers like ghosts of happier days. Only a few parents stood in the distance, huddled under the shadows of the station's arches, waiting for their children's arrival. But there were fewer of them than Violet had expected, and their silence was as unsettling as the lack of sound from the station's usual lively chatter. It felt as if the very essence of joy had been sucked from the place, leaving only the cold grip of something sinister behind.
Barty left to retrieve his luggage, muttering something about business in the city. He told Violet to leave without him, and after a brief, terse goodbye, she was alone. She wandered further into the darkened station, her footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. Her gaze darted around, searching for him. Julius.
Her heart quickened as she saw him, standing near the far corner of the platform. At first, she didn't recognize him. His figure, tall and impossibly thin, seemed to stretch into the shadows. The sharp angles of his face were even more pronounced than the last time she'd seen him, his gaunt cheeks casting long shadows under his pale skin. His dark hair was disheveled, falling in unruly waves that framed a face that could have belonged to a model—handsome, but in an unsettling, almost eerie way. His pale blue eyes, cold as the winter night, scanned his watch with an intensity that sent a chill down Violet's spine.
His hands were trembling slightly, and a faint wisp of smoke curled from the cigar in his mouth, blending with the mist that seemed to rise from the ground around him. There was a restlessness to him now, an edge of tension that hadn't been there before. He was different. The last time she'd seen him, he was a brother she could depend on, someone who cared for her, even if he was distant. Now, he looked like something else entirely. He looked like a man who had seen the other side of the world—a man who had already walked through the gates of death and come back, changed forever.
Violet felt her breath catch in her throat as she stood frozen, unsure of how to approach him. She knew what he had become, who he really was now. He was no longer the brother who had taken care of her when they were children. He was one of them—the death that stalked the streets of London, a harbinger of darkness and destruction.
She could feel the weight of her knowledge pressing on her chest, the gnawing question of whether she should tell Dumbledore about Julius. The lives she could save, the people who would be spared, if only she acted. But could she? No matter what he had become, Violet loved him. He had raised her, fed her, protected her from the world when she was too small to understand it. She owed him everything.
But even love had its limits. And she prayed, desperately, that he wouldn't cross that line.
"Hey..." Her voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper. Her throat felt dry, her heart hammering in her chest. "...I'm here."
Julius's eyes lifted from his watch, and for the briefest moment, Violet could see the flicker of recognition in his gaze. His lips curled into a smile, though it was not the warm, affectionate smile of the brother she once knew. It was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, one that seemed rehearsed and cold.
"Hey, little sister." His voice was smooth, laced with something she couldn't quite place. "Won't you give your big brother a hug? Surely you missed me."
He stepped forward, his movements graceful, almost predatory. He enveloped her in his arms, pulling her close. The hug lasted a moment too long, the tension between them palpable. It lacked the warmth it should have held—like a gesture he was required to perform, but one that he had long since emptied of its meaning.
Violet pulled back slightly, her eyes darting over him, searching for any clue that might explain the unease swirling in her gut. His coat was drenched in water, yet there was no rain outside. It was odd—unnatural. But as she watched him, she began to notice other things. His eyes, the way they flickered as if they were calculating something, sizing her up. His fingers, gripping her shoulder with a strength that almost felt like it could crush bone.
Then, as he spoke again, his hand raised in a fluid motion, and Violet caught sight of it. A dark stain on his sleeve. Blood. Fresh blood, dark and sticky, smeared across the fabric of his right arm. It trailed down his hand as he gestured, a faint crimson streak marking his pale skin.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she took an instinctive step back, her mind racing. The blood, the tension in his posture, the unnerving way he spoke—it all pointed to one thing: Julius had changed. And the person he had become was not someone she could easily recognize, or trust. The person before her was someone dangerous, someone she could no longer ignore. And Violet had to decide, in that moment, just how far her love for him would carry her.
"I have a few things to do and then we'll head home," Julius said, his voice cold, detached. He didn't even look at her as he spoke, his eyes focused somewhere far off, lost in thoughts that Violet didn't understand. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. The flames roared to life, swirling green, and in a moment, they were swept away from the station.
They stumbled out into Diagon Alley, but it wasn't the bustling, vibrant place Violet remembered. It was empty—eerily so. The usually crowded cobblestone streets, teeming with children rushing to buy their school supplies, were now quiet. Silent. The shops that were once colorful and inviting had fallen into a strange disrepair. Half of them were boarded up, thick layers of dusty newspapers covering their windows, while others were completely destroyed. Some had burned down entirely, their blackened shells still smoldering faintly. The air was thick with the lingering scent of ash, and there was a sense of abandonment hanging heavily in the atmosphere.
Violet's heart sank. This was not right. Diagon Alley had always been a place of comfort, a symbol of magic's lively pulse, but now it felt like a ghost town. The flickering street lamps cast long shadows, stretching across the deserted street like fingers creeping out from the darkness.
Julius was ahead of her, striding forward with his long, confident steps. He moved with purpose, barely acknowledging the few figures they passed, some of whom had their heads down, avoiding any eye contact. He quickened his pace, stepping nimbly around people who crossed his path, and then turned sharply into a small, narrow street to the left. Violet hesitated for a moment, her instincts screaming at her to stop, but she followed him, her curiosity overwhelming her fear.
The alley they entered was dark and suffocating. It was so narrow that she had to pull her arms in close to her body, brushing up against the walls as she walked. The temperature dropped noticeably, and she could feel an unnatural chill seeping into her bones. The air seemed heavier here, as though it carried a weight, a danger that lingered in every shadow.
Violet's heart beat faster, and a feeling of dread settled in her stomach. She had never been down this part of Diagon Alley, but somehow, she knew exactly where she was. The realization hit her like a slap across the face. Knockturn Alley. The very name sent a shiver down her spine. A place where only those who walked in the dark side of magic ventured—wizards and witches who dabbled in the darkest of arts. Black magic. Forbidden magic.
The passage was more crowded than the eerily empty streets of Diagon Alley. The shops were open, their windows bright with gaudy lights, and the people who passed by wore expressions of cold indifference. No one here seemed to care about the crumbling world around them. They all greeted Julius with respect—some with a subtle nod, others with a polite bow. Every one of them spoke the same words as they passed, their voices laced with reverence and fear. "Mr. Alas," they would say, their heads bowing slightly. "Mr. Alas," a few of them would whisper as they hurried on their way, clearly not wanting to linger in his presence.
Julius walked through them with the air of someone who belonged here, his gaze unflinching as he ignored the pleasantries. He was at home in this place, his every movement oozing authority, power. Violet had never felt more out of place in her life.
Finally, they stopped in front of a small, old shop with a sign hanging crookedly above the door: Cobb & Webb's. The building looked so ancient that Violet half-expected it to collapse under its own weight. It had the kind of neglected charm that only time could create—a place forgotten by the world but still clinging on, like a relic from a darker past.
Julius turned to her, his cold eyes meeting hers for the first time since they'd entered Knockturn Alley. "Wait here and don't go anywhere," he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. Without giving her a chance to respond, he pushed open the heavy door and slipped inside, disappearing into the gloom of the shop.
Violet stood frozen for a moment, her mind racing. She glanced through the grimy glass window, trying to catch a glimpse of him inside. Through the fogged-up glass, she could make out the shape of Julius speaking to an older woman. She was short, with thin, gray hair and a face that seemed as if it had been carved from stone. Her skin was pale, almost sickly, and her eyes gleamed with a strange, hungry intensity, as if they were constantly searching for something to devour.
She looked angry, her wrinkled face twisted in a permanent frown, her mouth moving rapidly as she pointed at something on Julius's arm. Violet strained her eyes, trying to see what they were discussing, but the glass was too fogged up, the view too obstructed.
Frustrated, Violet shifted her attention and noticed a crumpled page on the floor just outside the shop. She bent down, picked it up, and straightened it. Her breath caught in her throat as she read the headline:
"The Minister of Magic is Dead." The date in the corner was 11/12/1970—ten days ago. Violet's stomach twisted into knots. If this was true, why hadn't she heard about it? Why wasn't this news everywhere? And why hadn't Dumbledore said anything? This should have been a major event, something everyone at Hogwarts would have known.
Before she could process any further, a voice spoke from behind her, sending a jolt of fear through her body.
"Dumbledore didn't want you to know," Julius said, his voice dark and distant, almost cold.
Violet spun around to face him, her shock clear on her face. "What?" she whispered, unable to comprehend what he was saying. "Why would someone kill their Minister?"
"He wanted to isolate Hogwarts from everything," Julius continued, his expression unreadable. "He forbid letters from being sent to you while you were there. He wanted to keep you from knowing the truth. He liked the power he had, knowing something the rest of you didn't. Though he claimed it was for your own good, like he always did."
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. The touch was cold, and she felt a shiver travel up her spine as he led her deeper into the darkness of the alley. "Now you understand why I do what I do. It has to change. This world is getting out of control. Dumbledore is leading us to ruin. He and the current Ministry of Magic. We are going to make our world a better place."
Violet's eyes locked onto his, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "You're doing that by killing people? Someone killed the Minister, and you call that a better world?" she whispered urgently, trying to keep their conversation private, away from the curious ears of the people passing by.
Julius's gaze hardened, and a strange, almost fanatical gleam lit up his eyes. "For every good outcome, there has to be a great sacrifice. We are killing those who are unwilling to cooperate. Those who join us will be spared."
With that, he turned and walked toward a pub that looked as if it had seen better days: The White Wyvern. The door creaked open as he pushed it, vanishing into the shadows beyond. Violet stood there for a moment longer, trying to make sense of everything, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest.
***
The pub was filled with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere. Every table was occupied, and Violet could feel the weight of the eyes around her. She recognized nearly everyone in the dimly lit room, their faces flickering with familiarity, but none of them were people she would have ever expected to see in a place like this. Dolohov, for one, sat at the far end of the bar, his eyes darting around the room as he exchanged whispered words with a few shady-looking characters. Violet's heart sank at the sight of him—she remembered seeing his wanted poster plastered on a wall just a street over, a constant reminder of his crimes. Her gaze swept across the room, and she noticed several other figures—criminals who had once been locked away in Azkaban. Their dark pasts were unmistakable.
What was even more disturbing was the pattern she began to notice. Every single person in the room bore the same tattoo—one she recognized instantly. A snake and a skull, etched onto the left arms of each person. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine. It was the Dark Mark. A symbol that Violet had grown up hearing about, a mark that would rise into the sky after each killing committed by Lord Voldemort's followers. Each time a death was carried out, the Mark would burn across the sky like a twisted beacon. And now, she saw it on every single one of these criminals. They were Death Eaters.
Violet didn't need any more proof. The whispers, the silent nods of recognition, the fear and reverence they all held for Julius—it all made sense now. Julius was a part of this world, and he was connected to them. This was more than just a bad decision. This was a dangerous, insidious path he had chosen.
While Julius was at the bar, engaged in a low conversation with the bartender, Violet quietly pulled out a piece of crumpled newspaper from her bag. She unfolded it carefully, her hands shaking slightly as she compared the image of the tattoo she had seen in the room to the one printed on the paper. It was exactly the same. The snake coiled around the skull, its menacing eyes watching her every move. This was the mark of a Death Eater, of a follower of Voldemort. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks—every Death Eater bore this mark, and Julius was one of them.
Julius returned to the table with two butterbeers in hand, his usual confident smile plastered on his face as he slid one toward Violet. He didn't seem to notice the change in her demeanor, the way her eyes now looked at him with a mix of fear and disbelief. He sat down, taking a long sip from his drink, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her.
Violet's mind raced, but she couldn't keep the question inside any longer. "And what about the Muggles? What will happen to Muggles and Muggle-borns in your perfect world?" Her voice was strained, though she kept it low to avoid drawing attention.
Julius froze for a second, his eyes narrowing. It wasn't the question he had expected, not from her. "Muggles do not interest us," he replied, his tone dismissive. "Their world and ours shouldn't mix. They are beneath us, and we're not to bother with them." He paused, taking another slow sip from his bottle. "Muggle-borns are dirty, Violet. When are you going to understand that? Their blood is tainted. Their power is impure. Our blood is more important than theirs, and it always will be. But we won't kill them... if they recognize their place."
Violet recoiled slightly, the words cutting through her like a knife. The hate in his voice, the casual dismissal of an entire group of people, made her stomach churn. It was as if he was speaking about an entirely different world, one where hatred and blood status were the only things that mattered. She knew Julius hated Muggles, and especially Muggle-borns, but hearing it out of his mouth, seeing how casually he spoke of their fate, was a shock she wasn't prepared for.
He was caught off guard by her question, and for a brief moment, she saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. He was trying to soften the blow, to make her understand that what he was doing wasn't as terrible as it seemed. That it was all for the greater good. But Violet wasn't so easily convinced.
Julius quickly shifted gears, a practiced smile curling his lips as he leaned forward, attempting to change the subject. "Eve is coming on Friday, like always," she said, trying to distract herself from the dark conversation they were having.
"No, she isn't," Julius replied, his voice suddenly cold, his expression hardening. "Tell her not to come."
Violet frowned, confused. "Why?"
"Because I said so," he snapped, his voice laced with authority. "We're going to celebrate Christmas with the Malfoys. End of discussion."
His tone brooked no argument, and the finality in his voice made Violet's stomach tighten. She hated when he was like this—dismissive, controlling, as though her feelings didn't matter. She had promised Eve she would spend time with her, but Julius was insistent. He never liked when she spent time with her friends outside of their family. He didn't care about their bond.
"Look, I'm sorry, I promised Abraxas," Julius continued, his voice suddenly softer, more convincing. "It won't be the end of the world if you don't see each other for two weeks. Don't be mad, okay?"
Violet took a deep breath, her frustration bubbling just below the surface. She didn't want to argue, not now, not when so many other things were weighing on her mind. "It's fine," she muttered, her voice tight. "I just... forget it. Let's go home."
Julius smiled to himself, clearly satisfied with how he had handled the situation. He stood up, signaling that their time here was done. But before they left, he made a subtle gesture, sliding a small note onto the table in the far corner of the room. The figure seated there was hidden by a large hood, but Violet could tell by the aura of power and menace radiating from the shadow that this wasn't just any ordinary wizard.
The man in the corner, cloaked and unseen, was no one other than the Dark Lord himself.
***
Violet stood motionless in front of the grand, aging house, her heart heavy with memories that flooded her thoughts. She loved it. Despite its decay and the way it seemed to sigh with every gust of wind, this house was her home. She loved the chill that lingered in the air, the quiet, cold corners that seemed to echo with the sounds of forgotten footsteps. It never felt warm, never felt like a place where family gatherings would happen, and the holidays were always ignored in favor of silence. The house was as much a part of her as her own skin, a reflection of the life she'd grown up in, strange and unsettling, yet comforting in its way. The endless rooms—most of them unused—held their own mysteries, and the eeriness of walking through them at night, with the faint creaking of floorboards beneath her feet, was oddly familiar, as if the shadows themselves knew her. It was her sanctuary, a place where everything, no matter how strange, felt just right.
She pushed open the door, the heavy wood creaking in protest as she stepped inside. The cold air from outside hit her, but the chill inside made her shiver as she closed the door behind her. She slipped out of her coat and left it draped over the couch before she moved toward the fireplace. With a flick of her wand, she summoned a small fire and held her hands near the heat, wincing slightly as the warmth stung her fingers. The house smelled like dust and neglect, a faint mustiness that clung to every surface. Julius had certainly not bothered to clean since she left.
She walked into the kitchen, where the table was untouched, save for a few scattered papers and empty cups. The grim reality of the place settled in—this table was not for casual meals. It had become a place for meetings, whispered conversations, and plans made in the dead of night. Violet had never liked this part of the house. The sense of secrecy that hung in the air was palpable. It made her uncomfortable, but it was also inescapable.
"Do you want me to make tea?" she called through the window, where she saw Julius stepping outside, carrying firewood.
"Yes, that would be nice," he shouted back, his voice echoing slightly.
Violet turned back to the stove, setting the kettle on to boil. But as she moved, her hand slipped, and the tea spilled over the edge of the pot, splashing onto the floor. She cursed under her breath, hurrying to clean it up. When she went to the bathroom to change her clothes, the sight that greeted her nearly stopped her heart. There, submerged in the bathtub, was Julius's shirt, soaked through with blood. The water had turned a dark shade of red, and Violet's breath caught in her throat. Her body froze, her heart pounding in her chest.
He killed the Minister.
The thought crashed into her mind like a tidal wave, suffocating her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. It felt as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room. Violet stared at the bloody shirt, her thoughts spiraling. She had always suspected—deep down—that Julius was involved in something far darker than she could comprehend. She had always made excuses for him, convinced herself that he wasn't the one to carry out the bloodshed. She had told herself that maybe someone else had done it, that Julius wasn't capable of murder. But now, with the proof right in front of her, the truth couldn't be denied. He had done it. He had killed the Minister.
Her heart hammered painfully in her chest, and the room seemed to close in on her. She couldn't move, her body locked in place by the overwhelming fear and disbelief. She had always hoped that Julius was still the brother she had once known, but now the truth was undeniable. She had known the darkness was creeping in, but she never thought it would consume him completely.
She heard the door open behind her, the sound of it scraping against the old floorboards. Quickly, she stepped back from the bathroom, her hands trembling as she closed the door behind her, hiding the evidence. Julius's voice rang out through the house. "Hey, is the tea ready? I'm freezing."
Violet quickly composed herself, trying to push away the gnawing fear in her chest. She forced a smile, her voice shaky as she called back, "Yes, it's almost ready." She moved into the kitchen, her movements slow and deliberate, as if nothing had changed. Julius entered the room, his coat dusted with snow, his arms full of firewood.
"Has something happened? You're acting strange," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he set the wood down.
Violet swallowed, her throat dry. She had to act normal. She had to keep him from seeing how much she knew, how much the truth was crushing her. "No, I was just thinking," she replied, her voice quiet. "Sit down, I'll bring you some tea."
Julius smiled, settling into one of the worn chairs at the table. "How nice you are," he said, his tone light, but his gaze lingering on her face, reading her carefully. He knew her too well—too well for her to hide anything from him. But she would play along, for now. If she didn't, there was no telling how he would react. There was no telling what he was capable of.
"Abraxas is organizing a gathering, you know," Julius said casually, his words drawing Violet's attention back to him. "Something like a ball. I bought you a dress. It's in your room."
She set the teacups down and sat across from him, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup absentmindedly. "Thanks. I'll try it on later. Who will attend this ball?"
"A lot of people," Julius replied with a sly grin, sipping his tea. "I'll introduce you to most of them. You'll be on your best behavior, right? No talk of Mudbloods and that nonsense."
Violet nodded quietly, drinking her tea in silence. Her mind was far from the conversation. Her thoughts were still racing, still processing the horrible reality she had just uncovered. The radio in the background crackled with static, the only sound that filled the void between them. If only their parents were still alive. They would never have allowed Julius to fall so far into darkness. They would have never stood by while he became this... thing.
But they were gone. And now, Violet was left to pick up the pieces, to decide what to do with the knowledge she had. She couldn't just ignore it, couldn't pretend everything was fine. She couldn't stand by and let this go on. But what could she do? What choice did she have?
The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating. Violet couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change—something irreversible
Violet couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change—something irreversible