THE TRADITION.

━━━ Chapter Three: Hell is a Teenage Girl

The summers in England were never pleasantly consistent. Plagued by hot, humid days that seemed to stretch on for eternities, and cold, rainy days that poured down onto the streets, no day in the summer━especially in the later months━was the same. Nights could be worse than the days sometimes, where it was either airy and humid, sweat sticking to skin and pulling clothes close, or cold and drafty, bringing shivers and an enchanted fire roaring in the night in the middle of summer.

Wiltshire had never been particularly warm, often plagued by bouts of rain that lasted for hours, sometimes even days, nonstop, but summer became humid easily and brought forth a sense of uncomfortableness. Located in southwestern England, it was never as rainy as other counties near it, not nearly as close to bodies of water, but it certainly brought forth copious amounts of rain. And humidity. Was humidity mentioned?

Most notably: Wiltshire had never been sunny. Yes, while there were days where the sun shone down onto the greenery of the sprawling grassy hills, bringing out the birds and butterflies and animals, but they were a rarity; cloudy and rainy skies were the common denominator in Wiltshire.

Violet Malfoy had always been a fan of rainy days. The way that a cold breeze would blow through an open window, and how she could curl up with a warm blanket, a candle, and a mug of coffee in her hands as she read a book. When she was younger, she would go out and play in the rain despite Lucius' protests, but she had gotten sick enough times to know better. Now, she simply made herself at home in her bedroom, warm and cozy and comfortable.

So, when September 1 rolled around, Violet found herself curled up in her bedroom, a hot mug of coffee sat beside her as she thumbed through Jane Eyre, pointedly ignoring the time that passed on from the clock as the storm raged on outside of her window. She'd not slept the night before, convinced she could finish at least a small corner of the books in her shelf, and convinced that the longer she avoided leaving her room, the less the betrayal in Narcissa's eyes would hurt.

She'd been the one to find her the following morning, curled up in her claw-foot bathtub, naked and shivering with the aftershocks of coming down from such an extreme high, and had to heal her herself. Violet didn't remember any of it, but she remembered how after Narcissa laid with her in her bed, sleeping beside her and stroking her hair as how her mother used to.

It was the best she'd slept in a long time.

The hangover, however, was one of the worst ones. Her head pounded, and Lucius' shouting did nothing to lessen the pain, only fueling it, until she'd had enough and escaped to her room to work on finishing the skirts of Narcissa's gown. He'd yelled and berated her at dinner until his throat had run raw, and Violet had been twice as angry.

(When she was hurting, she hurt others; it wasn't the normal animal instinct to cause harm and make others feel how she did, but a Malfoy one instead. If I hurt, you shall hurt too.)

Rage unfurled itself in her chest like a bed of snakes. Tendrils of anger rattled themselves against her ribs, demanding her to let it out, but she kept it locked deep inside. The rattling of her rage was enough to get her through the day, knowing it was there and as explosive as a hair-triggered bomb. She could lash out at any point.

She wouldn't.

She was her father's daughter, but she was her mother's too. That had to go hand-in-hand somehow. Father's rage, Mother's rage, Daughter's rage━it all culminated in one angry teenage girl.

Hell is a teenage girl.

A knock sounded from her door. She didn't bother glancing up, knowing full well who it was, and the knob turned open as Mipsy, one of the other house-elves that had spent her entire life caring for Violet, came in. A breakfast tray sat in her small hands, littered with zeppole, frittella, and a handful of pastries that Violet had been fond of for her whole life.

"Mipsy is bringing Mistress Violet her favorites. Mipsy be being told that because it is Miss Violet's last first day at Hogwarts she is deserving of her favorites." Mipsy smiled at her and sat down the tray on the bed as Violet smiled back. Her eyes burned with the tears that she didn't have the energy to call upon. Last first day. "Is Miss Violet okay? Does Mipsy be doing something wrong to Mistress? Oh, Mipsy is so sorry."

"No, no, no." Violet reached out and grabbed the elf's shoulder before she could start throwing her head into the wall. Sometimes she really fucking hated the rhetoric they were founded upon, but there was nothing she could do. Indentured servitude was still slavery no matter how you phrased it. "No need to apologize Mipsy. I'm just a tad sad that this is my final year at Hogwarts; it's bittersweet."

Mipsy nodded. "Mipsy is understanding Mistress Violet's feelings. Mipsy is thinking that is why Mipsy brought Mistress' favorites. Mipsy is knowing Mistress Violet for long time now."

"I know, Mipsy," she smiled. "Thank you. These look . . ." Nauseating. "Delicious."

You have to eat, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. You cannot survive on coffee and a few bites of orange to sustain your body for the school year.

She didn't want to eat. She wanted the bottle of Ogden's Finest locked in Narcissa's bedroom and she wanted the little white baggies filled with her favorite substance. But, alas, we don't always get what we want.

"Mipsy is being glad. Mistress Violet be needing to eat before she goes to Hogwarts, Mipsy is thinking. Is Mistress Violet be needing some help with her clothes and trunk?"

"No, Mipsy. Dobby already packed most for me."

Mipsy nodded dutifully. She apparated away with a crack as soon as Violet picked up her mug and took a sip, letting the caffeine wash over her. Everyone in her family drank their coffee differently, even despite that they all had the same eating and drinking habits, especially when it came to tea.

Abraxas drank his coffee laden with cream, sugar, and a teaspoon of cinnamon. Lucius barely drank coffee, but when he did, it was only a cappuccino that Mipsy knew how to make from her time in Cagliari. Violet drank her coffee black with three sugars. Narcissa, not quite Malfoy but certainly next in line, drank hers entirely black. (It was a Black family trait to drink their coffee black, on principle that only the most elegant did, but she knew the reason why Regulus rarely drank coffee was because it was so bitter.)

She stared at the torrential rain lashing against her window and sighed. The clock struck 9. She only had an hour to finish eating and get ready before she needed to be at Platform 9 & 3/4 to board the train. An hour in her bedroom as a sixth-year student before she was officially a seventh-year student, soon to be an adult in the real world. It terrified her as much as it excited her, but she knew there was no hope in planning what she was to do after graduation.

Her father already had a few families vying for her name and virtue, desperate to sign a marriage contract with Abraxas, and he threw it in her face anytime she even went against her word. Lucius had long stopped fighting against her ever-growing rebelliousness as the door to her gilded cage neared closer and closer day by day, and it left her alone.

Lucius was a man. He was free from the shackles of marriage, and he would never understand what it meant to be married to a Pureblood man that simply saw her as a broodmare. Lucius would treat Narcissa right because he had a mother and sister who had taught him better. Her husband wouldn't.

Eventually, she'd managed to drain her coffee to the dregs of it where some of the grains laid, and Violet finished off her second zeppole before she even managed to get out of bed. She hadn't received Head Girl, still remaining as a Prefect, but it was better than nothing. (Her father had been sorely disappointed, and Violet had suffered the wrath.) However, in only being a Prefect, it gave her clearance to be able to show up to the Platform in regular Muggle disguise without having a cloaking charm on her.

She doubted her father would even care if she did.

She stepped into a tweed skirt and a black long sleeve and threw on the Afghan coat that Alice had gifted her for her birthday, before she clasped her mother's pearls around her neck. Protection wards instantly lit around her, turning a pale blue in synchronization with her magical signature, before dying down. The Potter family did have some good heirlooms, after all.

Narcissa appeared in her room with a loud snap and Violet didn't bother glancing into the mirror to meet her crystalline eyes, focused on attaching the hoops into her ears. They'd been charmed by Evan a few years back to protect the wearer's head, so she couldn't suffer blows to the head or concussions. (However, it didn't mean that she was immune to the massive headache that Evan Alexandre Rosier was.)

The blonde-haired woman plucked a lone frittella off the platter and it vanished almost instantly as she bit into it, watching her future sister-in-law with concerning curiosity. "Morning, Violet. Are you all ready to go for Hogwarts?"

"As ready as I can be," Violet hummed. "What do you need?"

"Lucius sent me to take you. Abraxas is busy with the Minister working on his petition for new laws to be signed in for the protection of any Pureblood family with a Monarchical seat." Narcissa rolled her eyes in only the way a future Duchess of House Malfoy could. "Lucius thinks it's ridiculous, but he's at a horse race with half of his friends right now, and I don't expect him to be back until late tonight. So that leaves me."

Violet gave her a tired look. "I think you'll find that he's at a betting table one way or another, Narcissa. But fine. We need to leave soon in order for me to board on time. I'm supposed to meet Emma and Lucinda at the entry to the Slytherin side of the compartment, but I need to speak to some friends before I do."

"And those would be?"

"None of your business." Violet smiled at Narcissa's pinched look. "I conduct my business privately and professionally, and no information is to be shared. Not even Lucius knows what I do, and Lucius has eyes everywhere."

Narcissa sighed. "I suppose having a rebellious younger sibling can only keep you busy for some time. Do you expect that Lucius would ever be happy if he knew what business you're conducting?"

"Lucius gambles a majority of the share in our family vault to get more prized artifacts to survive him in the following generations, cursed or not," Violet lazily drawled. "I don't hold a very high opinion or regard for what he chooses to do, but he knows just as well as I do that I wouldn't be very happy if I knew the full extent to which he does."

Narcissa watched her with pensive eyes. It seemed the longer she spent around the Malfoy family, the more she was realizing that it wasn't as grandeur as she had initially thought. Violet couldn't care less on her perception of the family, knowing that she didn't really care much for her surname beyond what it could do for her own gain.

"You are one peculiar person, Violet Malfoy," Narcissa eventually said. Violet was all sharp edges and softened corners, not quite one thing or the other; her eyes could say one thing and her mouth would say something else, and Narcissa could instantly know that she was thinking something entirely different. She wasn't like Lucius in the way that she was expressive in every emotion she felt, caring how the others perceived it or not, but she was rather similar to her former cousin, who was now disowned.

(She vaguely remembered Sirius and Violet running around as children, but it felt more now that Violet spent more time with Regulus. Sometimes she couldn't tell the difference between child Regulus and child Sirius in her memories.)

Violet smiled warmly at her. "You flatter me, Narcissa."

Salem purred from on her bed, blinking luminous green eyes up at Narcissa, and the older woman resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Two peas in a pod, those two were. "Is your trunk completely packed for this term? Everything already in place to go?"

"Yes," Violet hummed, dancing around her room almost lazily as she stepped into the platform loafers. Her room looked like her entire closet had exploded; clothes were sprawled everywhere, from her bed to her vanity all the way to the random velvet chairs perched by the window. "You do realize that I've been doing this for the past six years, don't you?"

Narcissa leveled her with a long look. The younger blonde could do nothing but raise her hands apologetically and roll her eyes as she ushered Salem to sit on top of her trunk, walking towards the window where she'd left a stack of books perched.

A wafting sense of grief and bittersweet sadness fueled the air, and Violet glanced towards the picture placed on her bedside table. It was from when Violet was young, too young to remember, and Lucius still had real smiles, and her mother was still alive. Her mother had never gotten to take her to Platform 9 & 3/4, never got to take her to Diagon Alley to pick up her required objects for the first year, never got to see her flourish in school.

Lucius wasn't there for her last first day. Her father was busy away from his children, doing what he had always done best━ignoring her children for as long as he could.

It was Narcissa that was there.

And Narcissa did not even understand how much it destroyed Violet inside to take her with her to the train. To have her go with her to Diagon Alley. To be the only person present for Violet's last year as a normal teenager before she was abruptly thrust into adulthood. (Although, she supposed, she had always been rather mature for her age.)

"Violet. Violet. Violet." The aforementioned girl's head snapped to Narcissa, and bleary hazel eyes blinked at her before turning away. "Are you ready to go? We need to leave as soon as possible."

"Yes, sorry." Violet grabbed her hand quickly and with a tug on her navel, the two were spinning in the universe towards Kings Crossing. Leaving Malfoy Manor and all its greyness, its darkness, and everything that tied her to the grounds of her surname; going to the one place she was safe in, the last time she would ever truly just be Violet and not Violet Malfoy, the one place where she would march to her death next to someone who could be her future husband.

❊

Hell is a teenage girl.

It's not a place that is fiery hot and full of the cries of the dead nor a place that is ice cold and inhabitable for those who died, a punishment cast down upon them by God (I'm looking at you Dante Alighieri!) but instead what takes the form of a teenage girl, not quite woman but not quite girl. The one who inhabits the stage between, where they experience life at the fullest and the hardest and the harshest.

Hell is a teenage girl. It's an indescribable feeling of rage, only truly known by women, sometimes described as female rage, that curls in your bloodstream and must be tempered and cooled to fit to the standard of women in society. (Docile. Soft. Demure.) It's the makeup that they do not wear for show, but instead as battle armor, ready to wage war in and declare themselves on the side of women that have ruled the world for a millennium. It's the mask that they wear across their eyes, their lips, their face that has them blending in like a chameleon.

Hell is a teenage girl, and hell looks quite a lot like heaven.

Only it's not.

Violet Malfoy does not know if the rage she feels is her mother's or her grandmother's or hers or just an inherited creature that inhabits the form of every woman in her family line. Does she feel the rage of her ancestors, begging to be let out after years of being locked in a cage inside of her. She rages and she rages and she rages and there is nothing that can stop her when she is angry, but she is so used to being angry that she turns it into other feelings.

A bitter feeling curls inside of her as she walks beside Narcissa on Platform 9 3/4, watching the older woman smile at old family friends, meet and greet with other people so easily it seems like second nature without the faint look of annoyance in her eyes (Violet's eyes are the windows to her soul and nothing can be hidden in the dark irises), and for once she looks like she has never felt such anger that Violet experiences. (She hates her, she hates her, she hates her.)

More people recognize her than they recognize Narcissa, though, for the Black name may be one of the oldest and most recognized, but the Malfoy name holds power and respect. She receives greetings and wishes of good luck from some people she'd never met before and others that had been to the soirées and dinner parties over the years. (She thinks they'd never really care if she wasn't the daughter of Abraxas, and the hottest gossip among the Pureblood society as many contemplated who her father would arrange her to be married to.)

No one says anything about the lack of her father or brother present, as neither have been since the first time she ever came through Kings Crossing, but the odd glances she receives alongside Narcissa are enough for her to understand that it doesn't necessarily look right for Violet Malfoy, who has come alone since she first turned eleven, is coming to her very last year alongside her future sister-in-law. (It's even weirder for Violet, trust that.)

"Violet, dear! Over here!" Walburga Black's voice sounds like nails raking along a chalkboard, but habit overtakes her as her head snaps towards the woman's voice, eyes meeting Regulus' beside Walburga and Orion, who seems to be in as much disarray as the Daily Prophet reported him to be.

Narcissa and Violet made short eye contact for a moment, where it seemed something was in agreement about the near psychotic woman, before they both walked the short distance to the Black family. Regulus stood out amongst his parents, all collectively in wizarding robes, only his height that towered over both his mother and father and the look of utter disdain on his face as compared to his father's boredom and his mother's elated neuroticism.

Walburga gave Narcissa a quick hug, exchanging quiet pleasantries with one another for a minute, before she turned back to face Violet. Luminous green eyes peered into Violet's dark ones, and Violet's mask shimmered over almost instantly. "Violet, mon amour, how've you been? I hope this summer went well for you; I know Regulus was over quite a lot."

"I've been good, Walburga, thank you for asking." Violet smiled charmingly as she stroked Salem's ears on top of her trolley. The black cat purred contentedly, but distrusting green eyes stayed locked on the Black woman's figure. "Regulus was over quite a bit, yes, but I've spent a lot of it working on my clothing and helping Narcissa plan her wedding as well."

Walburga nodded, almost to herself in acknowledgement. "Wonderful. As I told you a few months ago: a woman who can sew her own clothes will be a wonderful mother. I am excited to see Narcissa's wedding gown; Orion mentioned that Lucius told him that you had been sewing it."

"Yes, she has," Narcissa interjected. "She's been quite wonderful at it, too. I don't think I've ever met anyone who could finishing sewing an entire skirt within a fortnight and add the finished bodice to it within seven weeks. She's a master at the craft."

"You flatter me." Violet laughed, smiling at the two women. Regulus caught her eye and grinned, recognizing the telltale look of wanting to escape from the never-ending conversations of Pureblood women. She glanced up at the clock perched on the wall and nodded to herself. "I'm so sorry to run, but it's almost time before the train leaves and I know I have to board."

Walburga glanced down at the watch on her wrist before sighing resignedly. "Ah, yes, I suppose. Go with her, Regulus." Regulus nodded, but the annoyance shining clear in his eyes displayed his disdain in being treated like a child. "Have a good term, children. I hope to receive the invitation in the mail sometime soon."

Violet nodded. "They should be sent within a month or so."

"Good, good." Walburga nodded and waved them off with a flick of her wrist, and before Violet could blink, Regulus had latched onto her arm and had begun to drag her onto the train. Salem meowed in annoyance at the sudden movement but didn't protest any more as they moved onto the train and into the Slytherin side of the compartments.

As soon as the door slid shut, Regulus seemed to relax far more than he had been in the entire summer solstice, shoulders sagging and entire demeanor switching to a calmer one, as soon as he was away from his mother. (Things had been tense, she knew that, but for such immediate relief when boarding a train of all things, was beyond absurd.)

"Oh, thank Merlin, I'm going back to school," Regulus moaned, heading straight towards the compartment that their particular Slytherin group had claimed during his first year and Violet's second. "I don't think I could handle another moment within that house; you would've had to send me to St. Mungo's."

Violet gave him a dry look, although not quite hiding the quirk of her lips that twitched into an amused smirk. "I don't think you would've enjoyed it as much as you would've on an extended stay to Naxos."

"I've never been to Greece," Regulus mused.

A quiet laugh escaped the blonde girl's lips before they reached their compartment and Regulus slid it open, revealing Evan, Rabastan, Barty, Emma, and Lucinda. Evan was sprawled across one bench, with his head in Barry's lap and feet in Rabastan's. Emma and Lucinda sat on the other side, but were both curled together, chattering over something in Lucinda's hands. (For a group of children who were raised in non-affectionate families, they were too clingy to be separated.)

"Reg! Welcome, mate!" Evan laughed, craning his head up, and grinned brightly at the Black boy.  "Thought you'd never come. How long did 'Burga keep you for?"

Regulus shrugged lackadaisically. "Long enough. There were some things we had to clarify before we left the house." Violet avoided levying him with a concerned look, knowing that he wouldn't have appreciated it in the moment surrounded by the people who he was close to, but didn't quite understand his particular home life. "Are there any treacle tarts left or has Bast eaten them all?"

"There's none left. Bast ate them within five minutes of sitting down."

"I did not!"

Snickers wrung out throughout the compartment as Violet and Regulus sat down on their respective sides, relaxing into the worn seats beside their friends. "No need to lie, Bast," Regulus grinned. "We know you're a growing boy."

"Stop this! This is tyranny!" He exclaimed, standing up from his seat to glare down at his friend. Regulus was practically rolling with laughter in his seat, looking far too amused for his liking. "This is persecution! Oppression! Torment!" Rabastan huffed and held his hands on his hips. "You lot are terrible friends!"

Violet could only smirk in amusement, already curled up like a cat against Lucinda. "Found enough synonyms for bullying there, Bast?"

"Oh, you little━"

"━No need to levy insults against our peers, Rabastan," a cold voice cut into the conversation. The entire group stilled, the temperature seemingly dropping in temperature as they all stilled before casting their looks up towards Severus Snape, who'd spoken, and was stood beside Aron Mulciber, Gaston Avery, and Dominic Wilkes. No one said a word as the sitting group stiffened, casting cold looks towards the other group. "Good day to you all, too. Violet, Regulus, Evan, there's a Prefect meeting starting in ten minutes."

"Thanks for letting us know, Snape." Regulus nodded, ever the cordial one. While a specific animosity towards Snape was shared amongst most of their group, for reasons that were known and unknown, Regulus had been raised to appease and please. "We'll meet you there soon."

Snape hesitated before nodding as Violet's eyes narrowed on his form, and his robes billowed behind him as he stalked away, presumably to sulk off in a corner with his psychotic, fanatics of friends. The cabin was quiet for a few moments before Barty eventually spoke. "I don't like that bloke at all. Dunno why, but he's always rubbed me the wrong way."

"There doesn't need to be a reason why; Snape's a pansy-arsed mummy's boy," Violet muttered, rising to her feet. With a flourish of her wand, her school robes floated out from her trunk, and she sniffed delicately when Rabastan gave her an incredulous look. "I've got no reason to loathe him except for the reasons that are valid."

Evan's eyebrows rose. "So, you've got reasons to dislike him?"

"Not explicitly."

"So you don't like him at all, but you don't owe anyone an explanation as to why is what you're saying?"

Violet's lips quirked into an almost imperceptible smirk. "Precisely."

And with that, the blonde slipped out of the compartment, stalking off down the corridor.

❊

Violet Malfoy had always been more dragon than snake. Maybe it was accredited to her mother's side of the family being predominantly Gryffindors with a small amount of Ravenclaws, or that Violet had always been more headstrong than her fellow housemates were. Not saying that Slytherins weren't stubborn, because they were some of the most stubborn people she'd ever met, but Violet had always been . . . more.

More standoffish.

More spoiled rich, youngest child.

More tolerant.

(Maybe that would be her downfall; because she existed in extremes.)

But Violet was nowhere close to being a Gryffindor. She barely made it into Slytherin, narrowly passing up on Ravenclaw due to her survival instincts. It had always been a Malfoy's fatal flaw: they would adapt and survive, learning how to lay low in the grass to hide from the prey (or predators) and strike when given the opportunity. (It was also because Violet was more Malfoy than Potter at the time, and her desire to survive rather than live was stronger.

She wasn't sure she would choose life over survival now. She didn't know if she ever would.)

Slipping out of her skirt, shirt, and coat, Violet stared at herself in the mirror, analyzing the features she saw. Pale skin, as always, an inescapable feature she'd always carried, unable to turn the same shade of gold her mother's skin always was. Freckles littered across her shoulders, and her face, although she'd covered them up most of the time to fit within the beauty standards of Pureblood women. (Her mother had freckles, and she remembered them being her favorite part; she once counted them all, like a constellation.) A couple temporary tattoos that Rabastan had cast over the summer, drunk and convinced he would be a wonderful magical tattoo artist.

All in all, it was enough to keep her mind off everything she didn't want to think about. Like the slight chub to her stomach, pinching it outwards and seeing more than three centimeters pull away. Or the little stretch marks along her hips and thighs, from the weight lost and gained over the years of attending Hogwarts. And the little pudge to the bottom of her stomach, always a reminder that she'd never be thin enough to be flat━flat like Lucinda and Emma were, flat like Narcissa, flat like every other respectable Pureblood woman.

She felt fat, like a cow, but she knew she wasn't. It still didn't quell the voice in the back of her mind from when she was younger, hearing Walburga and Druella Black make comments about her size and proportions. She'd been trained in corsets by nine and had been able to glamour herself to look thinner, but the naked eye always recognized imperfections.

Shaking the thoughts away at the sound of the door opening, Violet quickly slipped into her Oxford shirt and her skirt, charming it higher up than regulation to the length preferred, and rolled her stockings up before sliding back into her loafers and slipped her jumper over her shirt, sliding into her robes before she stepped out. Emerald, green eyes met hers in the mirror and a barely audible sigh pulled from her chest.

Lily Evans.

Resident Gryffindor good girl, her biggest competitor in Potions beside Snape since first year, and the Muggleborn girl James Potter had been obsessed with since the moment he first laid eyes on her. (She'd heard the sonnets and the proclamations of love so many times over the last seven years, she was sure if she heard it again, she'd kill herself.)

Evans turned to look at Violet, mentally assessing her as she walked over to the mirror, tie in hand. Over the summer, Evans had shot up, towering over Violet in all of her long-legged glory, filling out but somehow staying thin enough that it looked like her shirt was much too big for her. Violet hadn't, she'd just gained weight from all the time spent indulging in pastries while sewing and had gotten paler from a lack of sunlight. (Malfoy men were allergic to sunlight, apparently.)

"Good afternoon, Evans," Violet eventually greeted, eyes blank as she fastened her tie. She'd normally have Regulus tie it for her, but after he'd grown like a weed, she doubted he'd be able to. "Prefect meeting?"

"Yes." Evans nodded, swiping a gloss wand over her lips. "I'd assume the same for you?"

Violet hummed and offered no verbal response as she fastened her Prefect pin to her jumper. It was a shame she hadn't gotten Head Girl this year, as it was a family tradition to have a Head in each generation, but she supposed that since women in the Malfoy bloodline were a rarity as it was, she could be excused. "You wouldn't perhaps know who the Head Girl is, would you? It'd be a right shame if it was that daft cow Meadowes." Evans shook her head and Violet nodded. "'Course."

The door opened and Alice Fortescue stepped into the small space, briefly squeezing Violet's arm before slipping into one of the stalls. Evan's eyes were curious at the sight but said nothing as Violet checked her appearance in the mirror, fluffing up her hair.

She probably though Violet was vain.

Violet didn't care.

"Well, I best be off then," Violet eventually said, sighing as if she longed to stay when the reality was the opposite and pushed away from the sink, charming her clothes to fold into her arms as she walked to the door and curtsied at Evans mockingly. "Have a good day, Evans."

She left before a response could be made, stalking down the corridor with her head held high and a look on her face eerily reminiscent of one her brother wore, and met Regulus by the entrance to their compartment, leaning lazily against the sliding door. Evan was sprinting down across the carpeted floor, shouts of apologies being her only indicator he was close.

Violet stepped in and waved her clothes up into her trunk, opening and closing as they settled neatly atop the rest of them, and came out to lean beside Regulus. "Who do you reckon the Heads will be this year?"

"Hopefully Bertram Aubrey and that Ravenclaw girl━Cordelia Singh, I think," Regulus muttered, and sighed, popping a sweet in his mouth. "If it's a Gryffindor, I'm telling Slughorn that I resign from my post as Prefect. I can't━won't be ruled by one of them." Violet nodded in agreement and held out her hand, feeling the weight of a lemon drop press into her palm. "I'd rather die than be ruled by Potter and his goons."

"Well, then you might just," Evan panted, hunched over as he struggled to bring in air. He had been running last she saw him, but the Trolly Lady was walking in their direction, so he must've stopped to get a treat. "I heard in the loo that Aubrey didn't get Head Boy, but he and some of his mates think Lupin might've. Said his marks were good enough to earn the title, and that Ravenclaw chick, Singh, she's a shoo-in."

Regulus dropped his head against the wall and groaned. "Sweet Salazar, I hate my life."

"Lupin's better than Potter, 's all I'm saying," Evan said, finally standing up. He was flushed, cheeks pink and panting lightly now. "I'd rather have the logical one of them than that nonce Potter."

"He isn't wrong," Violet agreed, cocking her head.

"You both are loony." Regulus pushed himself off the wall and threw an arm around Violet's shoulder lazily, walking down the corridor to pass through onto the front of the train, where the Hufflepuffs mainly resided and where the Prefects Room was. Evan trailed beside Violet and threw his arm over Regulus', both attached to the blonde at the hip. "The oddest people I've ever met, and I'm related to Bellatrix."

"She gives me the heebie-jeebies." Evan shuddered.

Violet tapped his hip with a small, sarcastic grin. "Look at you, learning American slang. I've never been less proud."

Evan pinched the skin between her neck and collarbone, and she winced, kicking him in the shin as they passed through the Ravenclaw sector. A few odd looks were cast their way but the three didn't pay any mind, with Violet and Evan messing with each other and Regulus looking like an exasperated mother. Finally, they made it into the Hufflepuff area, and Violet sighed, pushing out from under both of them, and opened the door.

The eighteen faces of Prefects she knew and had attended classes with stared back at her, three others looked up wide-eyed but cast their heads back down at the sight of Regulus and Evan behind her━both cutting imposing figures━and the three Slytherins she'd known for years didn't bother looking up, gossiping together like ladies at a tea party. And lo-and-behold, James Potter and Lily Evans stood side-by-side against the chalkboard at the front of the room, both frowning at Violet, Regulus, and Evan's late appearance.

"You're Head Boy?" Regulus asked, aghast, and James nodded, a smirk replacing the frown at the faint look the younger boy had. "Dear Merlin, we're all going to die." He pulled on Violet's arm and turned her around, staring at her wide-eyed and teary, pulling the dramatics of a true Black. "Tell Sluggy that I've offed myself on the train and I won't be a Prefect any longer, lest I desire to suffer at the hands of such a cruel, cruel━"

"━Regulus, sit down," Violet hissed, pushing him over to the three chairs left open, and glared when he turned back and pouted. "Go."

Evans nodded at Violet in thanks. "Thank you, Violet. Now that we're all here, I'd like for us all to get to know each other better." She glanced sideways at Potter, who was staring at Violet with a look that Violet knew she couldn't decipher without knowing him well enough; it was gloating and belated. "I know in the recent years, there has been some animosity between the houses, and I━we'd like for everyone to establish some common ground with one another. As Prefects, there should be no room for prejudice and grudges."

"Wow, Evans," Mulciber whistled, and James' eyes snapped to him, a glare in them that was eerily alike Violet's. "You should become a professor. You know, since you're making so many rules for us all to follow."

James' tone was scathing. "Have some respect for your superiors, Mulciber. You may be a Prefect, but we're both Heads, and━"

Mulciber made an 'ooh' sound mockingly and Violet's head snapped to him, a glare settling in her eyes that was almost identical to Potter's. (Looking at it in a different perspective, Violet really did wonder how more people didn't realize that they were related; the signs were all there, and they were almost identical to one another in mannerisms.) "━Cut it out, Aron."

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, but he said nothing in response, a look on his face that said their conversation would be carried over to a later time and slouched in his seat. James nodded in thanks at Violet, before turning back to face the group. "To finish off what Evans was saying, this year we would like to establish a more . . . rounded sense of familiarity within the Hogwarts Prefects in order to establish unity even in the face of separation." A dark look crossed his face as all of the Slytherins shifted. "As you all know, we're in very dark times in the outside world, and at Hogwarts this year we want to establish one singular fact: Hogwarts isn't the outside world."

"And carrying on from that," Lily cut in, sniffing slightly. "This year we're implementing co-lead rounds. We've had rounds before, as you've all experienced, but instead of having two people from one house lead them, we're mixing all six people in all four houses. You may be on patrol with someone from your house, but you won't be on patrol with them. By doing that, we're hoping to create a sense of unity and solidarity within one another━because we're all children, and if we're going to be sent out into the real world within a few short months, why not at least have some common ground before we leave."

Evan, Regulus, and Violet all shared looks with one another. The Black heir looked mildly uncomfortable at the prospect of having to go on a round with someone from another house, but what made all three of them as equally uncomfortable as one another was the knowledge of what they were trying to do: create a coexistence that interfered in the outcome of once they left the stone walls of Hogwarts.

(Trying to add a closer connection between the Purebloods that would undoubtedly align themselves with the rumored Dark Lord and the people who wouldn't to invoke a sympathetic connection. Knowing someone you're supposed to kill can stop you.

Sometimes it can't.)

They dismiss sooner than later, the Slytherins drifting back to their part of the carriage in a group even though they were anything but, and Violet's hands curled into tiny little fists. Small hands, tiny hands, dainty hands━everything a Pureblood girl like her, respectable, reputable, beautiful was supposed to have. She had a pianist's hands, much like her mother. (Maybe in another life, had Lorna gotten out or been a Squib, she could've been a pianist. Maybe Violet could've been one too.

She ignores the fact that she's got nary a musical bone in her body. It's always been dance, fluidity, perfection.)

"I'd much rather prefer it if I didn't have rounds with fucking Lupin every single day, I have rounds." Regulus was pouting, arms crossed over his chest as he flopped against the cushioned seat. Lucinda had drifted off to sleep at some point, slumped against Emma━who was drifting off against the window of the compartment, a random quidditch book in her lap━with Barty asleep in her lap. Rabastan was gently dozing against the corner, snores enough to keep his friends from falling asleep beside him. "He may be better than Potter, but I genuinely cannot stand their whole lot. And he's a Seventh year, so he could probably hex me with some curse we haven't even gone over yet."

Evan gave him a look as dry as ice. "Mate, you were raised by good 'ole 'Burga. If Lupin knew a hex or a curse that you didn't, I'd be surprised. Wasn't your entire education as a child based upon the foundation of your mother's delusions that if one of her sons wasn't magically corrupted, the entire bloodline would━Hey!" Evan gave Regulus a baleful look and scowled. "That was uncalled for, you heathen."

"I don't much like my mother, but please, have some respect for my bloodline," Regulus sniffed. "Offending the heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."

"Such a posh young man," Violet snickered. Regulus shoved an elbow into her side and she jumped away, scowling at him. "That was uncalled for, Reg. You can't just abuse your friends whenever they make fun of you; society would frown upon it."

Regulus stuck out his tongue at her, childishly and in the way that made her giggle. "What society doesn't know can't hurt it."

"Shameful!"

"Atrocious!"

"How could you?"

"That's such a monstrous thing to say, Regulus!"

Regulus rolled his eyes and glared at them both, eyes twinkling as he did so. There wasn't any malice in his gaze, just amusement in his friends' childish antics, even despite Violet being a year older than him and having much more responsibility. (They were all children, right? Weren't they?) "Oh, shove off, you two. You're awful."

Evan and Violet dissolved into laughter at that, and Regulus couldn't resist falling into laughter with them at that. This was how things were supposed to be at home, when you were surrounded with family. Full of warmth and laughter and jokes, not coldness that wasn't just in the air but also deeply embedded into hearts and minds. Regulus and Evan didn't grow up with the atmosphere that some of their housemates did━most children in the Sacred 28 didn't, but there were a few families that weren't as uptight as the richer, more aristocratic families were. The Prewetts, Weasleys, Abbotts, and Longbottoms weren't nearly as cold as the Malfoys, Blacks, Lestranges, Rosiers, and Crouches were. (But Barty's father was one of the heads of the Ministry, so it would be expected that a politician's child wasn't nearly as loved as a commoner's was.)

The train rolls to a stop sometime later, just as the sun had fallen and cast a golden glow across the skies, one that was already darkening into a yellow-pink-orange-blue color that artists would long to paint. Most of their cabin was up and moving, with only Rabastan and Barty in the changing rooms due to Emma and Lucinda having shown up to the train in their uniforms already. Violet stared out the window, fingers gently weaving through Salem's fur as he purred against her lap, eyes vacant and unreadable as her thoughts swam.

The bottle of Elvish wine tucked into her trunk, stolen from Lucius' room the night before, lingered in her thoughts, taunting her with the wish to not be present in reality. She knew she really shouldn't have taken it, all things considering it was an engagement gift from Druella and Cygnus, but Lucius wasn't a fan of sweet wines anyway. He liked dry, white wines━the ones served at weddings and parties, not the types that were drunk by itself. (Lucius wouldn't know anyway, not that she bothered caring, all things considering alcohol wasn't as much of a concern to him as his secret stash of Boomslang that he smoked with Rodolphous Lestrange, Corvus Parkinson, and Ted Nott was.

Lucius wouldn't care, anyway, because whether or not his little sister found herself in a drunken stupor alone in her dormitory room at Hogwarts was outside of his concern; if she ended up drowning her liver in liquor and died, it'd be one less person to compete with the inheritance for.

Or, at least, Violet liked to think so.)

Narcissa had taken everything else away, too. She rarely let her out of her sight, which Violet abhorred to an extent that had she been a Catholic like her mother was, she'd have to repent for her sins. It wasn't a problem not being allowed her own space, per se, considering she grew up in a world where nothing was private, but being surrounded by Narcissa more than she'd prefer? Awful.

And she didn't even have her fucking dust.

(Which she could've gotten, mind you, had she not been forced to conversate with the Blacks and then subsequently dragged off by Regulus before she could talk to the Dummy Man from Slytherin, Joey Lynch, who was a well-known supplier for most of Hogwarts━what with him being a Half-blood.

She didn't mind him much, to be honest. He did what he got paid to do, and whenever she didn't always have the money on hand━he wasn't a bad lay.)

All the signs were pointing to this upcoming year being a drag, even if it was the single most important year of her life that led up to her adulthood━the one year where every decision, every choice mattered the most and set the groundwork for who she would be once she was out on her own in the world.

Or, at least, so she thought. (And sometimes, sometimes, we're not always right.)

❊

There's not much to say about the prospect of Violet Malfoy being a man-made mess of a girl. Before she was who she was, she was a small child, someone who was perfect and had yet to be molded━a piece of clean, untouched clay that was waiting to be disturbed and dirtied and molded and broken. Now, she is a girl who hates the mere idea of being one and wishes that she could rewind time to where she was still the piece of unmolded clay instead of the statue of a broken girl, cracked and broken and on display for everyone to see.

But it didn't mean that Violet was not one of the sharpest, most cutting women she knew.

Malfoy women weren't just born docile and sweet. They were made. Every woman born into the Malfoy line, which was a rarity in itself, mind you, was made of vitriol and tar, blackened ichor and unearthly rage, a desire to simultaneously cause havoc and create chaos. They were malicious and mean and hateful, full of everything men strived to stomp out of them that only made the next generation of women stronger.

(The last time there'd been a Malfoy woman that was a direct descendant, born into the line, had been during the seventeenth century in Malmesbury before she was executed on the eve of her sixteenth birthday. A wretched girl, Catherine Malfoy, had been set to burn and instead had cast out the fire away from her and set the girl who accused her of being a witch, the Preacher, and all the men who had agreed of her being a witch on fire before fleeing to Wiltshire with her family in the night the next day.

Her rage had festered and culminated in Violet's.

It also may have been why Violet had always been more apt in dealing with fire than the rest of her family was.)

It was why her magic was always more potent when she was rageful, a combination of both her emotions and the magical temperament that had never quite found itself to calm down, even whenever she was at her calmest. Her father had always called her an angry girl, and maybe she was an angry girl. Maybe her blood just ran hot and full of negativity, full of magic and hatred and centuries old curses created by the women that came before her.

(Was her rage hers? Or her mother's? Or her mother's? Or hers? An inherited creature? Something passed down from mother to daughter, from woman to woman, from girl to girl, a never-ending cycle of a trait of girlhood that changed the course of who a Malfoy woman would be.)

It was why James Potter was completely and utterly terrified of pissing her off, knowing that the inevitable karma headed his way would be twice as worse as what he would expect. And yet, he never seemed to learn.

"What in the name of Good Godric are you doing?! Let me down!" Violet's legs kicked at the air as she was lifted off the cobblestone ground underneath her arms and lifted into an already moving carriage before she could blink, ignored by the unknown assailant and laughed at by the amused students rushing to catch the carriages before they missed them. "Let me down! Now! Oh, my Merlin, Rabastan, I swear to━"

"━It's me, Violet," James Potter said, kicking the door shut as he pushed her into the bench across from him. He was alone, seemingly, for the first time in her memory of all six years she'd attended Hogwarts with him, lacking the usual presence of his cherished band of bumbling idiots. She glared at him, and sniffed haughtily as she shifted in her seat. "Sorry for startling you, but I knew I couldn't catch you alone once we were in the castle."

Violet blinked up at him. "So you just decided to lift me up off the ground and into a carriage before I could blink? Without asking me first? Or considering the fact that I have friends who I was going to sit with like a regular, normal, perfectly sane person would? Are you bloody fucking insane?"

"Yes."

"You're a fucking imbecile, Potter." Violet scowled and crossed one leg over the other, still glaring at James. "An imbecile. You're stupid."

He waved her off flippantly. "So, you've said before. It's nothing new to me. I needed to talk to you, so I took matters into my own hands before one of your little snake friends━don't give me that look, Malfoy━could say something. Sorry for having initiative."

"Having initiative is one thing, Potter," Violet hissed. "Being a kidnapper is another. Get your facts straight."

James rolled his eyes and started to tie his tie through his reflection in the mirror, furthering Violet's ire as she continued to glare at him. It was a wonder how someone like her, studious and smart and perfect and genuinely sane, could be related to James Potter of all people━but you know what they say: there's always a black sheep in every family. (Hint: it wasn't James.) And what aggravated her even further, seemingly, was his blatant inability to tie a tie correctly.

"You know, sometimes I do wonder whether your parents dropped you on your head as an infant, but then I remember that you did come out of the womb with the umbilical cord wrapped around your neck, so maybe the lack of oxygen when you were born caused your idiocy."

"That's a fair assumption."

"It's not an assumption, it's a fact. You made yourself stupid, Potter."

The bespectacled boy levied her with a dry look, hazel eyes glinting behind his glasses. "Says the girl who couldn't blow her own nose with a handkerchief until she started primary school and had to be taught by her governess. A right shame for someone accredited for being so smart, right?"

"I'll have you know that Mipsy did everything for me up until I was nine. You had no house elf, Potter." Violet lifted her stocking up and let it snap back down, eyes narrowed onto her cousin's form. "Just you, yourself, and the wilderness to teach you everything it took to be a fucking baboon."

"Such vulgar language." James snickered. "A wonder how such a perfect young lady such as yourself would ever manage to secure a husband. What a shame."

"I hope you know that I hate you, Potter. I wish you'd fallen in that ditch when we were ten and hit your head and lost all forms of consciousness. It would've spared me the headache that's you now, and it's a shocker to think that I thought you to be absolutely insufferable as children."

"Threatening violence is a very unbecoming thing, Malfoy," James said.

"So is being dumb."

A sigh pulled from his chest, and he missed the quirk of a smirk toying on her lips as he looked away, tired of her never-ending retorts to him. (Violet had spent the first ten years of her life with a governess, Ms. Penelope Fawley, who taught her everything there was to know about being a perfect Pureblood lady in their society and had invertedly taught her the quick wit that many witches had once they grew up. She had just learned a little too young, and it manifested in the uncanny ability to keep an argument going for hours without her ever instigating an actual argument.) "Anyways, Violet, I needed to talk to you about something."

"Oh, goody, another warning this year about not poking the bear that's Sirius Black. We've been over this a thousand bloody times, James, I won't piss him off on his birthday even if he deserves━"

"━Violet, how well do you know Regulus Black?"

A slightly startled expression crossed her face for a moment before all traces were wiped away by an unreadable mask as her eyebrows furrowed over dark-hazel eyes. It was an odd question to ask, admittedly, knowing that Violet had spent almost every waking moment with Regulus since he'd been sorted into Slytherin his first year, but she knew he didn't mean it in the way of knowing him. There was something behind his tone, an inflection that she knew wouldn't lead in the direction she could expect.

"Well enough," she said, shrugging noncommittally. "I've been in a house with him for six year and spent most of my childhood around him at Sacred parties. Why? Is someone curious about his whereabouts or well-being, because that's not on the table for me to discuss with anyone but him."

James bit down into his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. "Sirius is worried about him. Said he's heard a few things about what Walburga and Orion have got him doing in preparation for his seventeenth."

"It's not in his place to be worried about him, James." A fierce expression crossed her face for a moment, showing the care she held for the younger boy that had extended into an almost sisterly instinct she knew that he knew she'd overtaken since the day Black had run away and been disowned, betraying his brother and leaving him to the wolves of House Black. "Black made his choice about how he felt about his family and it's his responsibility to carry the burden of being a fucking traitor. If he's concerned about Regulus, he can point straight to himself as being the source of anything wrong with him. He knows what he did."

James frowned, eyes narrowing as he spat: "They were abusing him, Violet."

"And?" Violet hissed flippantly. "If he wanted out, he could've poisoned his parents, not abandoning his younger brother to go from the spare son to the sole heir of the Blacks. Regulus wasn't prepared; Sirius spent his entire life being prepped to take over the role. Regulus had no clue of what he was walking into." Wide, dark eyes blinked at him, and an off guard expression crossed his face at the emotion in them. "No idea."

"That doesn't matter, Violet! They're turning him into a . . ." he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish the words stuck in his mouth and frowned, looking imploringly out the window. "Well you already know. I can't imagine you haven't seen the Prophet at all this summer."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't concern myself with trivial matters such as Rita Skeeter's over-dramatization of my brother's engagement, so no, I haven't." She paused for a moments before looking at him with narrowed eyes. "What did you say they were turning him into?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." James shook his head and avoided her eyes.

"James."

"I said it's nothing, Violet. If you don't already know, I don't want to be the first person to burst your bubble."

"Oh, get off your high horse, Potter," Violet snidely remarked. "I'm not in my own bubble by choice. You, of all people, know that best. I just don't understand what you're trying to tell me if you keep avoiding telling me and expect for me to figure it out on my own. I was sorted into Slytherin for a reason. Not Ravenclaw."

James sighed heavily, looking as if he were Atlas, carrying the burden of the sky above his shoulders, with a sag that looked like it had stolen all of his breath from him. Violet would've been tempted to ask him if something was wrong had her cousin not be an absolute insufferable addition to her life since the day he was born, but sadly, he was. (That wasn't to say that she hadn't tried to set him on fire when she was four after he chased her with doll heads that had been ripped off her favorite dollies.) "Sirius thinks they're trying to turn Regulus into a Death Eater."

Violet jerked back with a flinch, as if she'd been slapped, and James gave her a tired look. "That's━no. You've got to be positively joking. Black couldn't possibly think that Reg was going to━he can't be serious. Those are just rumors, Potter. You know that as much as I do."

"Do I?" he rhetorically asked. "Because if I did, then I wouldn't be asking you. Especially not after an entire family of Muggles were murdered two days ago and their house was set aflame, trapping every one of them inside, with a green mark of a skull with some snake of sorts coming out of it above it. Like a sign." Violet's face was an unreadable mask and he rolled his lips between his teeth. "You know, those things that serial killers leave at every one of their victims━"

"━I'm aware of a serial killer's signature, James. Lest you forget, Jack the Ripper was quite literally an ancestor of mine." The castle rolled closer to their carriage, with the thestral starting to slow as they neared the entrance where the rest of the students━bar the Firsties━entered Hogwarts at. "I just don't think this whole Death Eater business is real. Sounds like a load of tosh to me, to be honest, but what do I know?"

James just sighed. As if Violet was the bane of his existence and the responsibility for his worn down sigh, like she'd drained every bit of youth from him. (Really, she needed to get better cousins, but it was either James or the fucking other Potters who lived in America and were, like, Yankees.) "Just let me know if you start to figure things out. Please. I know you don't care for Sirius much after he left his family for mine━don't give me that look━but it's his brother. He cares for Regulus, whether or not he'd prefer to admit it."

"Fine," Violet agreed. "But don't expect any more from me. You've completed the last of your favors you can extract for me now."

"You're so petty," James snarked.

"How would I ever live if I wasn't? As a loving, friendly Hufflepuff who doesn't have a bad bone in my body? As if."

The carriage finally stopped and Violet sighed, running a thin hand through her hair, before she straightened in her seat across from him. The effortless Malfoy persona, which she had practically carried since the day she was born, with a careful mask that only revealed what she wanted you to see and eyes that told a different story to keep herself guarded at all times, but with the grace and elegance of royalty, had returned. Stone faced, hard-eyed, but with a pleasant smirk on her lips that seemingly replaced all that of a smile, Violet resembled every Slytherin he'd interacted with in his life. (Resembled Sirius, too, but only to a point. Sometimes Violet seemed so much more . . . contained than he did, and others Sirius was a lot more restrained than Violet was. It just seemed to really depend on the moment.)

Violet slid to the edge of her seat and opened up the door to the carriage, bringing in a cold gust of air to the unreasonably stuffy atmosphere she'd found herself in. Then, she turned and looked at him, eyes unnaturally clear and bright for someone so sober. "Watch out for your Gryffindors, Mr. Head Boy. Especially your Muggleborns. Mulciber'll be in a particularly nasty mood after his reprimanding earlier."

James nodded, and quicker than he could've realized, she'd slipped out and disappeared into the gathering crowd of students rushing to get inside, the only sign of her being a bob of blonde hair ever so often amongst a sea of upperclassmen.

Things were most definitely going to be odd this year.

AUTHORS NOTE ━

so. that could've gone better than it did but tbh, i did run out of like my creative juices??? idk everything's been sounding so poetic up until the new year so if there's a change in tone, ignore it. i have tried my best but school is my number one opp right now.

anyways if you're trying to imagine violet as like...a character from a tv show or movies, she's an amalgamation of them. but seriously, serena van der woodsen and georgina sparks make up her entire personality and i Stand on business when i say that. (i haven't been standing on business, just making pinterest boards.)