𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 . 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓

𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄.

1995;

Viola's emotions were not consumed by anger or disappointment. Rather, a surprising enlightenment washed over her, revealing the vast depths of the world's offerings. While heartbreak, betrayal, and sadness were anticipated, she found herself immune to their grasp. And though she braced for a torrent of tears, akin to a tempest in the southern eastern states, none came forth.

Enlightenment bestowed upon her soul, bestowing a sense of carefree abandon. She came to the realization that her solemn countenance was a futile facade, for she was not the person she had projected herself to be. The pursuit of good grades, impeccable attendance, and skirts tailored to modest perfection held little significance in her eyes, but carried immense weight in the world of Victoriè.

Victoriè proved to be the epitome of a malevolent grandmother, while Viola held the position of her cherished granddaughter. Or so it seemed, until Viola's eyes were opened to the simmering animosity that coursed through Victoriè's gaze,  like red wine staining white silk—undeniable, obstinate, and vexing.

In her consciousness, Viola became acutely aware of the relentless passage of time. Each day that slipped away only served to burden her with the weight of responsibilities. Thus, the fleeting sanctuary of her fifteenth year in the year of nineteen-ninety-five beckoned to her as the sole opportunity to embrace recklessness, before the  tempest of chaos unfurled its tendrils.

Perhaps it was the wine pilfered from the kitchens, or the intoxicating smoke of cigarettes, but in some twisted manner, it was seeping into her veins, bringing a strange liberation. For in that haze of indulgence, Viola discovered a profound apathy. Duty held no sway over her, nor did the pursuit of her prescribed role within the confines of this family. The weight of inheritance bore no significance. All she yearned for was to immerse herself in the depths of poetic verses, the tendrils of smoke, and the intoxication of pleasure.

"I'm surprised the ministry's still letting you walk around free, Potter,"

Viola's senses abruptly awakened from their  slumber as Draco's voice pierced through the haze that enveloped her. With a deliberate inhale of her cigarette, she savored the bitter embrace of smoke, her heeled boots resounding with a clink as she strode forward. By her side, Pasny stood, while Draco occupied the other.

"Better enjoy it while you can," Draco's words were a calculated attempt to provoke a reaction from Potter.  "I expect there's a cell in Azakban with your name on it,"

Potter's fury ignited, his response a visceral snap as he lunged towards Draco, barely restrained by Weasley's firm grip.

"Can't you take a joke?" Viola asked, her tone laced with mockery as she sent him a mischievous smile. "He was clearly just jesting."

The group of Slytherins let out slight chuckles before sauntering away. Draco casually draped his arm around her shoulders, a smirk playing on his lips as they left.

Harry shrugged off Ron's hands from his shoulders, his jaw tensing as he did. He gazed ahead at the group, acknowledging their almost intimidating presence. It was like something straight out of a dark arts novel.

Draco in his tailored black suit, his presence nearly commanding. Pansy, with her sleek black trousers and a form-fitting tank top, and jacket draped on her shoulders to protect her from the chilly weather. Viola, on the other hand, dared to push boundaries with her   choice of dress. Her short skirt, bordering on audacious, was accentuated by intricate patterned mesh tights. Like Pansy, she too opted for a tight-fitted top, but hers was more long-sleeved.