fox - r.lupin

- c h a p t e r - f i f t y-o n e -

edited.

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 There had been a celebratory feast. A feast from which she could hardly stomach any food.

She conversed normally–barely holding herself together as she smiled, laughed, teased, and debated.

It was late into the evening by the time she retired for the evening.

She had just bid Narcissa and her batshit crazy sister–Bellatrix–goodnight and ducked into her room when she finally collapsed to the ground.

Her heels were discarded on the floor as silent tears fell down her face.

She cradled her arm, pain from hours prior still throbbing over her skin. It felt like something was living under the surface of her forearm.

Violet's vision blurred as she pulled her sleeve and examined the dark brand. The familiar snake seemed to laugh at her as the skull grinned maliciously at the reptile's secret joke. It was laughing at her.

Laughing because she was now bound to the Dark Lord in one way or another–forever intertwined with the most bloodthirsty wizard in the world.

Laughing because, in a way, Violet had failed.

Of course–she was not actually a part of the Death Eaters, but the fact that their Mark was now embedded on her arm was a sign that no one was safe from the war. Especially not her–a girl who had already lost so much.

Violet sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stifle her tears as her fingernails dug into her skin–threatening to start scratching at the brand.

This was a nightmare.

A living nightmare.

She had sworn to Remus that after this mission, she was asking never to be sent away as a spy again.

Violet had sworn that she would get this done and leave.

But she needed to be done now.

She had already felt like she was losing her mind in the unending halls of the manor–but this...this was the last straw.

Being a part of the inner circle meant she had to do everything at Voldemort's bec and call. She was a puppet on strings now–the Mark calling out for its prisoners whenever its own master deemed it fit.

And now she was ensnared in the trap.

Violet had to get out–now before they made her do something that would haunt her to the grave.

She decided right then and there that she would write to Dumbledore–requesting a plan to be formed so she could get out.

After a few more sorrowful moments, Violet stood to walk to the writing desk across the room–determined to scribe this letter tonight. But as her fingers glanced over the parchment and ink well, a knock came from her door.

She turned her head–just staring at it blankly.

Then her eyes turned to the clock on the wall, and a frown pulled at her lips, "Who in Merlin's name..."

Her hand moved to her wand as she wiped her face of all tears–praying it wouldn't be evident that she had been crying.

Moving towards the door and unlocking it slowly, Violet pulled it open–shocked to see the source of the knock.