She wasn't sure where she should draw the line, but Violet Potter felt she should have drawn it when the red helmeted serial killer had asked her to join him in his nightly…purges. No other word for the violent bloody assaults that left entire rooms so soaked in blood, your boots squelched the carpet.

But every time she thought of it, she balked at leaving him. Oh she knew his backstory, murdered and then resurrected by a pit, something Voldemort would have sacrificed his entire power base to just have the knowledge off. She was so glad such a thing like a Lazarus Pit had not existed in her world. An endless war with Voldemort left her shivering at the very idea. The fact it drove their user steadily more insane, well Voldemort definitely didn't require help with that.

But back to red helmet. She understood him. He wanted understanding and all he got was moralistic nattering. She'd faced the same. After the War, with her connection to Death, hadn't she had a chance to get the full knowledge of what every Death Eater had done to their victims before they were murdered? So what if the first accidental killing of her target had started a burning lust for vengeance? It was justice. Not just fighting fire with fire, when she delved into the more daker offensive spells, but she truly believed in you reap what you sow.

But her friends didn't understand that. They couldn't understand even when she told them exactly what was going on and her justification for what she did. They just saw the black and white of it, called her Dark and tried their best to arrest her. Chasing her across the county, sending her to Azkaban and chasing her again when she broke out.

They led the entire country in her persecution, in preventing her from doing what must be done to slow down the atrophy of society that would lead to another war, another spate of innocents killed.

They didn't understand she did t for the Greater Good.

And so when they finally caught her, they tossed her in the Veil, hearts hardened against her pleas and her tears with noxious self-righteousness. She met not with Death, but with Themis, progenitor of the ideal of justice. The Master of Death had her blessing to do what she always did.

But not in her world. Never again in her world.

So when she woke up in this dark city of fear and anger, she killed the first time, but it was with disquiet. These people were not her enemy. Yes they did terrible things, but the people they did them do were not her people. They didn't do it systemically to an entire group, they didn't rape and murder for causing fear. Some did and they were handled by the costumed man who dressed like a bat. Weird, but she'd seen Hagrid dressed for a date so it wasn't like she judged or anything.

She waited it out before she started seeing patterns in the suffering. And when she collected enough evidence she went out to do what she could, until one day she saved a brutal man in a helmet from being shot in the back. She went out, week after week visiting justice but not death upon those who would seek to harm.

Until one day, she cried over the broken body of a child, and the helmeted man said it was a group who did this, who had been doing it for as long as she'd been alive. They planned and executed their crimes and enjoyed themselves. Hood asked her to join him, gloved hand stretched out, a tinge of insanity and sadness in his voice, hoping she wouldn't turn her back like the others.

She should have drawn the line then, but how could she draw it on her counterpart, refuse him like she had been refused?

She could not and she would not.

Gotham was her home now, and Gotham be damned for it.