A spark in the shadows
The next day crawled by with an unbearable slowness. Violet lay wide awake through the night, the tension in her body so thick that sleep was impossible. Each time her eyelids fluttered in the dark, she could feel the weight of the unspoken truths pressing down on her chest. Every thought she had seemed tangled, pulled into knots that kept her restless. Not a minute of sleep came to her, and when the sun finally began to rise, the day felt like a continuation of her troubled thoughts. The quiet of the early morning only made the darkness inside her feel louder, more consuming.
She skipped the breakfast that Julius made for her, unable to stomach any food. Instead, she slipped out of the house for a walk, the cold winter air biting at her skin. The streets were empty, save for a few stray figures hurrying about their business. The world felt distant, as if she was walking through some dream where everything was just slightly out of reach. The days were growing shorter, and the nights stretched longer. It was only 3 pm, and yet the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting the world in a dusky, muted light. Violet didn't feel like going to the ball. The thought of mingling with those people made her stomach twist. She would rather hide away in her room, curl up, and shut out everything. She couldn't wait to return to Hogwarts, to the sense of normalcy that still clung to that place despite everything that had changed.
Frustration surged through her like a violent tide. With a clenched fist, she grabbed a stone from the ground and hurled it angrily into the distance, watching it skip across the frozen ground.
"Take it easy, Miss Alas, you could kill someone with that kind of throw. Who disturbed you?" A calm voice broke through her frustration, and Violet turned to see Mr. Crouch, dressed neatly in a suit, a briefcase in hand. He looked every bit the part of a distinguished wizard—middle-aged, a kind smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The lines of his face spoke of a life filled with hard work, loss, and quiet pain. He was probably coming from the Ministry, and Violet guessed he had been busy, probably working on the investigation into the Dark Lord's followers. He had been appointed a judge in the Department of Law not long ago, a position where he oversaw the convictions of those tangled in dark magic.
Violet forced a tight-lipped smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside. "Julius, a little. Nothing serious."
She wanted to say more. She wanted to scream at him, tell him that Julius was one of them—that he was a Death Eater, or at the very least, an accomplice to those who followed Lord Voldemort. But the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't do it. Not yet. The reality was too painful to confront, too twisted for her to untangle. So she kept her cool, burying the truth deep inside, away from prying eyes.
Mr. Crouch gave her a knowing look, his eyes flicking to the ground briefly before they met hers again. "That's rather normal, Miss Alas. Brothers and sisters fight all the time. Nothing to worry about. I won't bore you with the details. I'm rather tired."
He began to walk away, but Violet stopped him with a question she hadn't quite planned on asking. "How's the search going?"
Crouch paused, his face flicking through a brief moment of surprise before he turned to answer her. "Fine. A few suspicions... Nothing too concrete. But don't worry your pretty head with these things." His eyes softened, and his tone shifted, as though he wanted to protect her from the gravity of the situation. "Think about marriage, Violet. You'll be turning 18 soon."
Violet blinked, a slight frown creasing her brow. It wasn't the first time someone had mentioned her age, but the implication of his words felt more significant now. Marriage? She wasn't even sure she wanted to think about that kind of future. She nodded slowly, trying to hide the wave of conflicting emotions that surged in her chest. The more she listened to him, the more she could understand Barty's hatred of Crouch. There was a strange warmth to the man, a care in his words that felt both sincere and distant. It was as if he tried to soften the blows of the harsh world, but all the while, he was part of it.
Violet continued her walk, her steps slow and measured. The first snowflakes began to fall from the sky, delicate and fragile. She watched them as they drifted down, floating through the air before melting into the cold concrete below. They were so beautiful, fleeting like the thoughts in her mind, here one moment and gone the next. She could see them for just an instant, but then they disappeared, as if they had never existed.
The weight of everything felt heavier in that moment—the truth about Julius, her growing doubts, the life she had once known now slipping away from her like those snowflakes. How much longer could she keep pretending? How much longer could she stay in this world, with Julius so entangled in darkness, and the people she once trusted now working toward something so different from what she believed in?
She pushed the thoughts away, trying to focus on the simple beauty of the snow. But the darkness loomed just out of reach, threatening to catch up with her at every step.
Julius had bought her a gown, not a mere dress. If it hadn't been black, Violet would have sworn it resembled something from a bridal collection. The gown was breathtaking, though a bit more extravagant than her taste preferred. She was never one for standing in the spotlight, and this dress, with its dramatic corset and lacing, seemed designed to demand attention. The fabric itself was gleaming, shimmering under the faintest light, and it clung to her form in a way that made her feel almost as if she was wearing a suit of armor—not in strength, but in the sheer force of its presence. The corset was tight, restricting her breath just enough to make her feel light-headed with each inhale, but she didn't dare complain. Julius had made it clear that appearances were everything tonight.
He had told her to be ready by seven, but, of course, they had to be fashionably late. Half-past seven felt much more fitting. She couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves as she made her way down the grand staircase. The house felt oppressive, silent except for the echo of her heels on the marble floor. As she reached the bottom, Julius stopped, his eyes sweeping over her with an intensity that made her breath catch. For a moment, she wondered if he saw her as a little girl or if he saw her as she was now—a woman, grown and poised. His eyes lingered for a moment longer, and then he extended his hand.
"You're perfect," he said, his voice almost too soft, like he was caught in some strange spell. For a fleeting second, Violet felt as if the world had tilted slightly. She took his hand, and together they stepped out into the night.
The walk to the Malfoy manor was brief, but the sight of it never failed to awe her. The manor loomed before her, an opulent structure that seemed to breathe wealth and power. It was even more magnificent than she remembered—tall, imposing, and bathed in the soft glow of thousands of twinkling lights. The Christmas tree in the yard was a towering masterpiece, its branches heavy with silver tinsel and ornaments that caught the light in a thousand different ways, as though each one were a tiny star. The whole scene was ethereal, like something from a dream, but also cold and calculating in its perfection.
Violet had always admired the beauty of Malfoy Manor, but tonight it seemed to reflect something darker—an elegance that hid a darkness underneath, like a jewel with a hidden flaw. Abraxas Malfoy, with his penchant for excess, had spared no expense. But then, this was Abraxas, and excess was what he did best. It was his signature, his mark on the world.
As they entered the main hall, Violet's gaze swept over the crowd. House-elves scurried about, taking coats and offering drinks. The guests were all impeccably dressed in the finest robes, their conversations hushed and laced with subtle power. Violet recognized many faces—some famous, others notorious. Among them were those from the Sacred 28, the oldest and most powerful pure-blood families in the wizarding world. There were hardly any half-bloods, and certainly no Muggle-borns. It was the kind of gathering she had been raised to expect, where bloodlines were everything and status could be measured by the cut of one's robe or the weight of their family's name.
Her heart skipped a beat. This was more than just a lavish party—it was a display of power, a showcase of the kind of wizarding world Julius and his associates were fighting for. And there was one presence she felt almost certain would be here. The Dark Lord.
Violet's mind raced. This was her chance, perhaps her only chance, to find out what was truly happening. She had to figure out their plan, to understand what Julius and the others were planning. How could she stop them if she didn't know what they were truly after? The gathering buzzed with laughter and the clinking of glasses, but to Violet, it all felt distant, like she was watching everything unfold from behind a pane of glass.
She didn't trust any of them—Abraxas, the Malfoys, the dark forces that had clearly gathered here. But she had to play along. She had to act the part, pretend to be just another guest at their sick celebration. In the corner of her mind, she wondered if Julius could see the hesitation in her eyes, if he knew that every step she took in this manor was a step further away from him, from the world he wanted to create.
Violet squeezed his hand tightly, her grip a silent declaration to herself. Tonight, she would learn what she could. Tonight, she would gather information, even if it meant risking everything.
As the hours dragged on, Violet felt her patience wearing thin. The evening had become a monotonous blur of meaningless conversations with old, pompous wizards who prided themselves on their supposed superiority. They spoke of family bloodlines, the purity of magic, and their expectations for Violet's future—particularly about her marriage prospects and how many children she should bear. It was as though they couldn't see her as anything but an object to be passed along in the name of tradition. In her mind, Violet entertained dark thoughts, imagining ways to strangle the life out of their conversations, to silence them for good. But she was stuck, trapped in this gilded cage.
She cast her gaze around the room, desperate for some distraction, some escape from the suffocating atmosphere. That's when she saw it—the door. It stood ajar, leading to the darkened hall beyond, an exit, a way out. But she wasn't quite sure if she could slip away unnoticed. Just as she thought about making her way over, her attention was drawn to the figure standing near the entrance.
A crowd had gathered around the person, their heads leaning in, hanging on every word, their attention rapt. Violet's curiosity piqued, and she straightened up, suddenly alert. She tried to peer through the crowd, but it wasn't long before the person at the center of the group turned, their gaze locking onto hers.
It was him.
Tom.
He stood with an air of quiet confidence, lean and elegant, his presence so commanding that it seemed to make the entire room bend to his will. He spoke with a deep, melodic voice that flowed like honey, drawing people in, charming them with every syllable. His words had a way of cutting through the air, making it feel as though nothing else mattered except for him. The women in the crowd hung on every word, their eyes glazed in admiration as they fawned over him.
Violet found herself frozen for a moment, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn't look away from him. There was something about him, something magnetic, that made her feel both drawn to him and utterly captivated. His dark eyes, glinting with a mixture of power and mystery, swept across the room and landed on her. The briefest flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips, as though he knew exactly what effect he was having on her.
Before she could stop herself, a small, involuntary smile curled at the edges of her own lips, a reflex she couldn't suppress. It was as though some invisible thread had pulled at her, connecting her to him in a way she couldn't understand but couldn't deny. For a brief moment, everything else in the room faded into the background, leaving just the two of them locked in a silent exchange.
Julius, who had been watching his sister with quiet intensity, noticed the shift in her expression. His gaze flicked from Violet to the man who had captured her attention. His eyes narrowed, the realization hitting him like a cold wave. He understood the look, the spark that had lit between them—something forbidden, something dangerous.
In that instant, Julius knew. He knew what it meant, what it could mean, and a surge of possessiveness and protectiveness rushed through him. He couldn't allow this, couldn't let his sister be drawn into the orbit of someone like him. He had plans, ambitions, and none of them included her getting tangled up with someone who could undo everything he had worked for.
But it was too late.