Seven years. That was how long she had lived with the Dursleys for. Sometimes, she tried to remember what her life had been like before, when she had lived with her parents. But as hard as she tried, she could never remember anything but a faint impression of a red haired woman and a sense of utter, all consuming cold. That last part was rather strange, as she could not remember the last time she had felt cold other than that. Even when Aunt Petunia had made her shovel snow off the driveway in sneakers Dudley's ragged hand-me-downs, she hadn't felt so much as a chill.

Once, she had asked her aunt about her real parents. She had never made that mistake again, as Aunt Petunia had yelled at her for a long time not to ask questions and finished by telling her that her father was a useless drunk and her mother a slattern, whatever that meant. She knew it was a lie though because her Aunt had had deceit in her eyes. She hadn't said anything about it because her relatives got very angry with her when she pointed out when they lied.

She hummed a nameless tune to herself as she trimmed the hedges. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to reach the tops, and she had to be very careful not to make any mistakes. Her aunt and uncle took great pride in their immaculate hedges, neater and with less character than any others in the neighborhood. Things were always less unpleasant when they weren't angry at her.

Honestly, she wasn't working very hard. Dudley and her aunt had gone shopping and her uncle was still at work, so there wasn't anyone to yell at her if she occasionally slacked off to stare at the clouds or to play in the yard.

She had to be careful not to leave the seclusion of the hedges though because the neighbors would tell on her to Petunia, and then she'd be in real trouble. She sighed, wishing something interesting would happen. She didn't have very many opportunities for entertainment, and the chores her aunt and uncle assigned were always very boring.

To her surprise, something interesting did indeed choose that exact moment to occur.

For a moment, the sun seemed to dim, as if passing behind a cloud. It came and went far too quickly for that though, and was followed by a cold northern wind, which blew hard enough to make Violet take a step back and squint her eyes. It was a welcome relief from the previously muggy September weather. Although the cold never bothered her, she couldn't say the same for heat.

When she opened her eyes, she realized a woman was standing no more than ten feet from her, leaning casually against one of the hedges. She had white hair and wore an elegant suit. Maybe she was one of her uncle's coworkers? Violet had seen a few of them before when they came over for dinner, though she was never permitted to eat with them or introduce herself, and they had sometimes worn suits. Only the men, though.

Aunt Petunia always said that there was something wrong with women who dressed like men, but Violet didn't think this was the sort of woman she was talking about. She had an unconscious grace that Petunia would have killed for, and Violet suspected anything she wore would look like it was designed for her and her alone.

"Are you Violet Potter?" the strange woman asked, her voice lilting and sharp.

"Er, yes. Are you looking for my uncle? He's not home right now, but I could take a message for you if you want?"

The woman smiled, showing alabaster-white teeth. "Certainly not. The person I seek stands before me."

Violet raised an eyebrow. No one but her relatives looked for her and even them only to yell at her or give her work. Or, in Dudley's case, to try to hit her. "My aunt says not to talk to strangers," she said. It wasn't, strictly speaking, true. Aunt Petunia had repeatedly told Dudley not to talk to strangers but had never bothered to extend the lesson to Violet, perhaps hoping she would be kidnapped.

"Ah. And you listen to your aunt, do you?" The woman's voice was faintly mocking.

Violet frowned. "Sometimes," she said. "Not always."

The woman laughed gaily. "Well, my name is Satria. There, now we aren't strangers anymore, are we?"

When the woman spoke her name a pleasant shiver ran down Violet's spine, and the hedges quivered as if from a breeze. Violet decided this was a very strange woman and most likely not one of Uncle Vernon's coworkers.

"Why are you looking for me, anyway?" Violet said dejectedly. "No one looks for me."

Satria sat down on the grass next to Violet, seemingly unbothered by the possibility of staining her expensive-looking slacks. "I'm afraid I rarely take into account the opinions of others when forming my own," she said. "As for why I am here? Well, that would be your mother's doing, really."

Violet froze. "You knew my mother?"

"Briefly," said Satria. "I wouldn't have minded getting to know her a bit more closely, but she wanted to keep things strictly business. Understandable, I suppose, if a bit dull."

Violet was quiet for a moment. "Wha-what was she like? I know you didn't know her well, but…"

Satria smiled again. She had a very friendly smile. "Well, I only met her the once. But it was clear to me that she was very brilliant and dedicated, if a bit foolish. She was beautiful, too. You have her eyes and many of her features. She had red hair, though, while yours is black."

"I knew it," Violet whispered. "I knew she had red hair." She looked up at Satria. "Is that why you're here? Did she ask you to visit me?"

"Not quite." She rose now, looking down at Violet. "Your mother loved you very much and would have done anything to protect you. A dark man sought to do death upon your family, you see, and so she entreated my aid. Such a thing did not come free, of course."

Violet's head whirled. Dark men, plots of murder, and clandestine deals? It sounded more like something from one of Dudley's shows than reality, but something about the woman standing before her made her claims difficult to doubt.

"Is that how they died?" she asked softly.

"Indeed. The man, who some call Voldemort, came to your home when you were a babe and struck down your mother and father. When he turned his wand to you though, you were saved by my blessing."

Wand? That didn't make sense, magic wasn't real. Or was it? Violet had always been able to do things that didn't make sense. She could move things with her mind, freeze water with a touch, and see the truth in the eyes of others. "You saved my life," she said.

"Indeed. Though your mother deserves credit for seeking my assistance."

"Thank you," said Violet softly.

"So polite!" said Satria lightly. "It does you credit. However, keep your thanks for now. I did not offer my help solely out of generosity."

Violet wasn't sure what she was implying, but she had a suspicion. "Did the deal have something to do with… me?"

"Very sharp, Violet. I shall be forthright: Your mother promised me seven years of service in exchange for your life. Alas, she is with us no longer and was unable to settle her debt. And so it is passed on to you."

Violet wasn't sure if that was how debts worked, but if this woman really had saved her, she owed her, didn't she? But she wasn't quite sure how she was supposed to help her. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you. I wish I could, though." Satria didn't look like she needed someone to wash dishes or trim hedges for her like the Dursleys did.

"And why is that?" Satria asked. She sounded amused, as if she knew something Violet didn't.

"Well, you said that my mother was very clever and I can see why you'd want her to work for you. But I'm just me. I'm not special or clever or… anything."

"Oh, Violet," said Satria. "I think you know that you don't really believe that. Shall I tell you a secret?"

"Okay," said Violet. "I won't tell anyone."

"I believe you," said Satria. "So I shall tell you. Even from the start, I intended for you to pay the debt, even if your mother survived. Your mother was most impressive herself, but I could tell that you were something special even before I met you."

"Really?" asked Violet. "Mum agreed to that?"

"Indeed she did," said Satria wryly. "But as I said, she was very desperate and I don't think she realized just what she had agreed to. Like you, I believe she assumed I would be more interested in her. But as things turned out, the point is moot." She leaned back down toward Violet, resting on one knee. "I must say, I didn't expect you to know so little of your nature. I wonder who decided that you should be raised by the mundane."

"Mundane? You mean the Dursleys?" Violet thought that 'mundane' was a very good descriptor for her family.

"Yes. Most mortals are mundane, but you are one of the rare few to have magic of your own. Your mother was the same and likely your father as well."

"So magic is real then," Violet whispered. She wasn't sure what Satria meant by 'mortals,' but maybe she would elaborate later. "I always wondered…"

"I am unsurprised that you became aware of your magic on your own, at least to an extent. I know little of mortal magic, but I can feel your power. You will be great, child."

A small smile crossed Violet's face. No one had ever told her that she was special or important before, at least for as long as she could remember. And now a strange woman who knew her mother was telling her that not only was she not a worthless waste of space but that she was special. It was a fantasy come true.

"Are you going to take me with you?" Violet blurted out. "I don't get along with my relatives very well."

"Of course; this is no place for someone like you. It's a pity I couldn't have collected you sooner. I think you would have enjoyed yourself a great deal more in my court. But a pact must be honored."

She rose to her feet, and Violet followed. "Is there anything you would like to collect before we go? You need not bring clothes or any other such mundanities, but if you have anything of sentimental value, you should collect it now. I do not expect you will return here for many years, if ever."

Violet paused, thinking. There were very few things she owned, and nothing that she deeply cared about. On the rare occasions when she did have a possession that she cared about, Dudley would always try to break it. She had learned to not grow attached to material things.

"No," she said. "There is nothing."

Satria smiled. "Then take my hand, Violet, and we shall—" She was cut off when Violet took her hand and she leapt backward, staring at her hand in wonder. Violet hoped that she hadn't done anything wrong, but Satria didn't look upset, just confused.

"When you use magic," Satria said slowly, "What exactly is it that you can do?"

"Well, a few things: I can move things with my mind if I concentrate, but that's hard. If I look someone in the eyes, I can tell what they're thinking. Not you, though. I don't know what you're thinking." She paused, a little breathless. "Uh, I've done a lot of other things, but not reliably. I think I teleported once, but haven't managed to do it again. Oh, and I can freeze and melt water really easily. That's the easiest of the things I do, actually."

"And you do not suffer from the cold, yes?" Violet nodded. "Astounding," she whispered reverently, talking more to herself than Violet. "This should not have happened. It should not even be possible. A mortal touched by Winter? The stone carried blood and Winter's touch, yes, but even so there should have been no compatibility." She laughed, her expression rapturous. "Oh Violet, you shall be great."

"So there's nothing wrong, then?" Violet really hoped not. There was no way she stay with the Dursleys now that she knew there was so much more to the world. Was there a whole magical world?

"Not at all. Not at all." Satria offered her hand again, and Violet took it. She didn't pull away this time, but her hand shivered in Violet's, and her smile widened. Then the world seemed to fade to gray and when color returned to her vision she saw that they were in a deep forest.

They walked through the forest for a few minutes before finding what Satria was looking for. A venerable tree, its bark long since gray and wizened and trunk crooked and bent, pulled downward by the ages. The tips of its branches brushed the ground. Violet gave the tree an uncertain look. True, there was something eerie about its appearance, but she wasn't sure why they were in the middle of a forest in the first place.

"It is a natural arch, the simplest method to reach my homeland," Satria said, answering her unspoken question.

"You're not from Britain, then?"

"Ah, no. My home, and now yours too, is named the Wyld."

Violet nodded. "So we just walk under the tree?" She tried to keep a dubious tone out of her voice. It wasn't that she didn't trust Satria, but she could see through the arch, and there didn't seen to be anything of note on the other side.

"Normally, it would be somewhat more complicated. But I daresay that in your unique circumstances you will find that the Wyld eager to accept you. Follow me, now."

Satria strode through the arch and, to Violet's shock, vanished. She hurried to follow her, and found herself in another forest. No one could mistake it for the forest they left, though. Immense pine trees towered into the sky, and the sunlight that pierced the dense canopy glittered off the snow covered ground. The landscape had a fierce, unconstrained beauty to it, like nothing Violet had ever seen previously.

"Uh, Satria?" Violet said. "Where are we? I mean, it was summer in Britain and now there's snow on the ground."

Satria didn't respond at first, instead setting off in a seemingly random direction. The forest had no paths but was not too dense on its floor. "The Wyld is not a part of Earth. You can think of it as something like a refraction of the mortal world." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "There will be time aplenty to explain, later." She ran her hands over her suit and there was a rippling distortion as it transformed into a blue dress. She had a curved blade on her hip. "For now, we will take a short walk to my court."

Violet shrugged. If magic was real, why not parallel worlds too? "Court?" she asked.

"Yes. As a lady of the Sidhe, it is my fief. The courts of lords and ladies in combination form the Court of Winter, under the Queen and the Mother, which she rules from her… Court. Admittedly, the terminology is somewhat confusing for an outsider." Sneering, she continued, "A similar arrangement exists for Summer. However, it is somewhat more… informal."

Clearly, Summer was something truly dreadful. Well, Violet had always preferred the winter months anyway. They walked quietly for a while before pushing aside a final snow covered bough, and then Violet saw something that made her jaw drop. Situated in the valley between two great forest covered hills was something out of a fairy tale. Although, that was perhaps fitting. She hadn't missed Satria referring to herself as a Sidhe, after all. In the valley stood a picturesque village with brightly painted buildings and winding streets. It was circled a wall of bright white stone, dotted with round towers. The town wasn't particularly large, consisting of no more than a few hundred buildings, but it still cut an imposing figure against the undeveloped wilderness.

"Something of a step up from your mundane suburban home, no?"

Violet just nodded enthusiastically.

~#~

Satria had led Violet through the town, showing remarkable patience as she stopped to gawk at the strange and marvelous sights: two men chatted amiably as they sat in the branches of a tree; a woman danced in the gently falling snow; and guards dressed in shining bronze armor patrolled the streets, perched on great white stallions. Most of the people looked human, but when she saw a man with blue skin and another with horns, she was was fully convinced that this was indeed not Earth. She saw no one with any visible signs of age and no children whatsoever. Perhaps there was something to Satria's comments on mortality.

Eventually, Satria managed to lead her to a particularly impressive manor house at the center of the town, where she and a number of her closest subjects lived. A kindly attendant showed Violet to her new bedroom which she was astonished to realize had nearly fifty times the floor space of her cupboard. There were tall bookcases filled with books on all manner of topics. Most were written in a language she didn't recognize, but enough were English to make her suspect that they were placed there specifically for her. Some were printed, while others seemed to be handwritten in near, angular script. She flipped through a few of the in hopes of learning more about her new home, but they clearly weren't intended to be read from the perspective of an outsider, so she met with limited success. The language, even when it was in English, was usually archaic and had no respect for conventional spelling.

She did manage to find a reference to Satria in The Lords and Ladies of Wynter, but it said only that she was a minor Lady with a court unusually close to the Origin, which was apparently very important and existed at the border between Summer and Winter. She couldn't find any other reference to the Origin before the same attendant from earlier returned to inform her that Satria had requested her presence for dinner.

The dinner was another new experience for her. While the Dursleys had never quite starved her, she had never had access to food in quite the quantity or certainly the quality she might have liked. Satria, it seemed, had a different philosophy. A long wooden table had been set for a feast, focusing mostly on various interesting and exotic meats, each of them wild and freshly hunted. There were several different species of roast fowl, but the centerpiece was a suckling boar. The meat was much stronger in flavor than anything she had eaten before, and she made sure to try a little of everything.

They ate with several of the prominent members of Satria's court, who spoke to her in serious tones of matters of great importance. One of them, a man with golden skin—literally golden—had apparently killed the boar himself and was the head of Satria's Knights, a group that one of the books had described as the elite warriors of a Lord or Lady. She quickly grew bored of their discussion and concentrated on the food. They mostly ignored her anyway, after briefly introducing themselves. Eventually, after imbibing an impressive quantity of wine and sweet mead the conversation lightened and the hall filled with musical laughter.

"So then," said another of the Knights, a man with hair even whiter than Satria's, "I climbed up the brute's back—one blade over the other, see? And slid down his front and split the bastard from seam to seam!"

The table broke into enthusiastic applause at the end of the man's story, and he took a theatrical bow, grinning. Satria gave a derisive snort. "Don't stop there, Lyle. I happen to know there's more to that particular story."

Lyle affected an affronted look. "Must I, milady?" he whined.

Satria smirked. "Consider it a command."

"Well," he continued, smiling despite himself, "I took a bit too long admiring my own handiwork, you see, and the blasted ogre took a parting swipe at me. Probably would have taken my head off if our fair Lady hadn't pulled me aside."

Satria chuckled and said, "Take this as a warning, Violet. Lyle is no less unable to lie than the rest of us, yet he still practices deceit as an art form."

"And you should be glad of it, milady." He took a sip of wine. "Lest I come back from the Court with my eyes put out and my tongue in my hands rather than carrying the gossip of the loose-lipped."

"Touche," said Satria. "I suppose it is good that you are so sharp tongued. Else you'd have to pick up your sword once more, and we've already heard how that ends."

"Lyle is our ambassador and informer in Queen Mab's court," she said, turning to Violet. "We're lucky to have him because if I went myself it would likely end in a bloodbath."

The golden man chuckled deeply, a rumbling sound that made the table vibrate. Violet thought that he had introduced himself as Armen. "Our lady isn't speaking hypothetically. Remember the Metere affair?"

"Let's not remember the Metere affair, yes?" Saskia interrupted. "It's quite late and I'm sure Violet will want to wake early tomorrow for a closer look around the lands." She smirked at the gold skinned man. "Armen, I'm sure you would love to wake uncomfortably early tomorrow and show Violet around?"

He dipped his head. "Ah, I shouldn't have mentioned Metere. Well, at least I will have the opportunity to tell Violet the full story without you present to stop me." He rose to his feet and bowed deeply to Satria and shallowly to Violet. "I will turn in as well then, for if I drink any more I fear I will make for poor company tomorrow."

~#~

Over the coming months, Violet fell into a comfortable routine. For the first time in her life she felt like she was where she belonged. The fae of Satria's court were all very welcoming toward her, though that could likely be explained by her clear connection to the Lady. What's more, she had more free time than ever before, which she spent wandering freely though the sparkling streets or engrossed in books of fantastic tales and beguiling secrets. Even her lessons were much more interesting than mathematics or science. In the mornings, she had lessons with a wide variety of the fae. On some mornings, a woman with hair like glass would instruct her in the language of the fae, a musical and lilting tongue that Violet found far easier to pick up than she would have expected. Other other days, she had learned to dress a deer, carve wood, write perfectly even, elegant letters, and all manner of other skills, some notably more useful than others.

In the afternoons, Armen the golden man would take her into the forests surrounding the court where he would instruct her in the ways of violence and survival. These she payed especially close attention to, for Satria had told her that once she had learned to defend herself sufficiently, she would be allowed to freely roam the fierce and scenic forests alone. These great woods called to her, and so she dedicated herself to the learning to mimic Armen's graceful movements with blades and effortless precision with firearms.

There was another, grimmer, side to her dedication, however. As of recently, Satria's court had become the closest to the border of Summer and Winter since Lord Donovan's court was overrun and razed by a Summer incursion. It seemed almost daily that a group of Satria's Knights would ride out in their glittering armor, often accompanied by the magical creatures of Winter—trolls, wolves with glowing eyes, and other, stranger beasts—to engage the forces of Summer. Sometimes, Satria would accompany them, and when she returned she would always be in a fierce and joyous mood, and their nightly lessons would would inevitably turn to the martial applications of Winter magic, barbed icicles and freezing storms of hail.

It was these lessons that were Violet's favorite. Officially, they were lessons in magic, and even then only in the magic of Winter, whose touch she had carried since tiny shards of Satria's gemstone dissolved into her blood. Satria freely admitted that she knew little of mortal magic, but encouraged Violet to further develop it on her own. In practice, these lessons often turned into discussions of the nature of the fae, of magic, or Satria herself, at least on nights when she had not accompanied her forces against Summer. It was in one of these lessons that she learned the true nature of the fae's immortality.

"So you really can't die?" Violet asked, incredulous.

Satria leaned back in her chair, a wineglass suspended delicately in her fingers. "Almost. It is true that no fae may be truly slain by another, nor by time, disease, or their own hand; I speak not of the lesser Sidhe, of course. The likes of Red Caps, Satyrs or Unicorns may be struck down at will." She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "But we of the fae? We linger, long after we should not."

"But then what's the point of the war with Summer?" Violet exclaimed. "Tomas was telling me earlier about carving out the spine of a Summer fae in his last raid. Are you suggesting that they survived that?"

"What's the point indeed," Satria repeated softly. Then, to Violet she said, "Oh, I have no doubt that Tomas slew the Summer wretch. But there will come a time, be it in twenty years or a hundred, when the ground is once again befouled by their presence. Such it always is. There are consequences, of course. Forgotten memories, reduced power… Even insanity. It is believed that nonexistence must must be intolerable indeed for it to affect some of us so strongly. I would not know; I have never died and certainly do not intend to."

She paused for a long moment and took a sip of wine. "There is, of course, an exception."

"An exception?" Violet prompted her.

"Indeed," Satria said, caressing the word, a sharp smile crossing her face. "Though no fae may slay another, there are more than fae in existence, are there not? And a fae struck down by a mortal bearing cold iron or deathly magic will never rise again."

Violet froze at her words. Eventually, she said, "That's what you want me for, then? To kill your enemies permanently."

"As perceptive as ever, Violet. But if I wanted a simple executioner, I would need no more than a brute of a mortal. Even before I recognized Winter's blessing in you, I knew you would be something more." An ecstatic expression crossed her face, and her voice filled with passion. "Don't you see? You will be the unknown variable that tips the balance of millennia and finally unites all of Winter. Summer's inexorable advance will be halted, and then reversed!

"But this will be many years in the future, of course. We fae have nothing if not time, of course, and I daresay that Winter's influence will ensure you live far longer than a typical mortal lifespan. Why, you may cease aging entirely. It may take us a hundred years and then a hundred more, but Fate has smiled upon this venture already. My counterparts may be willing to follow Mab's slow descent into hedonism and capriciousness, but I will not content myself to rule a court of middling size, locked in an unending war."

Violet stared. She had never known Satria to speak so frankly or display such emotion. Was she truly so important? And Satria spoken of centuries, but her service was only for seven years. Of course, perhaps she simply expected her to remain in her retinue after her debt was paid, or to join Satria at her side. It was not an unreasonable expectation. Already, she felt a stronger attachment to Satria and the Wyld than to the mortal world and had come to think of her court as home. In seven years time, her attachment would likely only grow. But to think of herself cutting through Satria's enemies, striking fear into them with her mockery of their immortality…

"I think I need to be alone now," she said. "Please."

Satria stood, looking vaguely embarrassed. "I apologize for being so forward. I'm sure you can tell that this means a great deal to me, and it is something I have not been able to tell any other."

Violet shook her head, not wanting Satria to misunderstand. "I'm not upset. I'm glad you told me, but I just need to think about it all."

"Then I will leave you to think and return tomorrow evening for our lesson. If you have any questions, I will endeavor to answer them then."

"Thanks, Satria," Violet said. As she left, Violet stared into the wineglass she had left behind. The wine was a deep red and likely an expensive and sought after vintage, but right now, it looked only like blood.

~#~

Stomp. Clunk. Stomp. Clunk. Stomp. Clunk.

The scarred man known as Mad-Eye Moody slowly made his way down the street. The inhabitants of the perfectly uniform houses and scrupulously trimmed lawns stared at him through window shutters and fence cracks with something approaching horror. His namesake spun wildly in its socket, eternally searching for the first warning sign of an ambush. He knew that such a thing was vanishingly unlikely in the suburbs of Surrey, yet his eye searched all the same. The man was ever attentive, and uncomfortable with any sort of relaxation. The muggles might have described his behavior as a disorder born of repeated traumatic events that few could hope to endure; he described it as constant vigilance.

Finally, he came to his destination, a house as unremarkable as any other. He hefted his gnarled walking stick and pounded it against the door.

"Dursley, you great lump!" he bellowed when there was no response. "Open this damned door or I'll knock it down!"

"Bloody hell, I'm coming!" came a muffled voice from behind the door. There was a fumbling with the doorknob, and the door swung open. "You've got some nerve, coming to my home and making demands of me. Why, I should…" The heavyset purple-faced man trailed off when he saw Alastor's eye and unpleasant grin. "Damnit, come in, if you must. Don't just stand there where all the neighbors can see!"

"Don't mind if I do, Dursley."

Dursley breathed a sigh of relief as he slammed shut the door behind Alastor. "Well? What the hell do you want?"

Alastor's eye spun in its socket. "You're not going to offer me a cup of tea?"

"I bloody well won't. Don't think I don't know who—what you are. We were supposed to be done with your kind."

"Funny. In my experience, most people are a lot more cooperative when one of their family members is kidnapped. That is, unless they've got something to hide."

"Kidnapped?" Dursley seemed to swell up and looked like he was thinking of trying his luck with a punch. "Are you threatening my family?"

Alastor sneered. "I'm talking about your niece who you couldn't even be bothered to report being abducted."

Now Dursley just looked confused. "What? The girl's been gone for months! One of your lot took her!"

"And you didn't think to report this… why?"

Dursley snorted. "How? It's not like you get the bloody post." He snickered.

"Hmm. I don't know, maybe you could have filed a police report?" growled Alastor. "That is the thing to do when a person disappears."

"Maybe if she had been normal, but I wasn't about to expose honest, hard-working policemen to your freakishness."

Alastor snorted and spat on the immaculately clean floor. "I assure you, Dursley, 'our lot' has plenty of connections with your police forces."

He turned and pointed to a large and squishy armchair. "Sit."

"I will not be told to sit in my own home!" Dursley's face was slowly moving from purple to red. "You have no right—"

"You'll sit, Dursley, because if you don't, I'll place you under arrest for interference with an investigation and drag you back to a nice, magical, holding cell where I can ask you all the questions I want."

"You expect me to believe that you're a copper?"

Alastor grinned, showing all his teeth. "I've been told that a better comparison would be to your Specialist Operations unit. Now sit."

Dursley sat.

"Now, I've got some questions for you. I suggest you answer them without a fuss, understand?" He took a seat on a couch, resting his rough wooden prosthetic on the expensive leather. Dursley winced.

"I understand," he said reluctantly.

"About time. Firstly, when was the last time you saw Violet Potter?"

Dursley snorted. "It's been months. I don't remember the exact day. We assumed she'd done a runner, at first." At Alastor's unimpressed look, he clarified, "It was sometime in mid September."

"Hmph. And prior to her disappearance, did you notice her behaving strangely at all?"

"The little monster was always strange. If she knew something, none of us noticed, though I wouldn't have put it past her to disappear on purpose just to make trouble for us."

Alastor ignored him. "And did you notice any suspicious characters before or after her disappearance? Maybe dressed something like me?" he said, motioning to his robes.

"No. I don't know anything. One day I came back from work and found the hedges left half-trimmed and the girl missing."

"That's what they all say," said Alastor with a smirk. "But I have another theory. See, you seem to have a certain resentment for Miss Potter. And if you don't know anything about her disappearance… Well, that leaves you the prime suspect, doesn't it?"

A vein in Dursley's neck throbbed, but his fear outweighed his anger, and he chose his next words carefully. "I resent your insinuation. But… I suppose I do remember something abnormal about that day."

"What?" asked Alastor bluntly.

"Just that cold. Unnaturally, freakishly cold, the kind of thing that your kind is inevitably responsible. Infecting us perfectly decent folk with your blasted—"

Alastor cut him off. "How cold are we talking? Because if you're feeding me a crock of shit over a bit of a chilly breeze, you'll find your arse in a holding cell before you can say 'abnormal.'"

"There's no need for threats," said Dursley, looking like he very much wanted to make some threats of his own. "There were bleedin' icicles hanging from the roof! In September! Even you can't think that's normal"

"Doubtful," Alastor said dismissively, but inwardly his mind was racing. This was the first real lead they'd had since they learned of Potter's disappearance from Arabella a little over a week ago. How Albus had failed to notice her disappearance for months he couldn't understand, but assigning blame wouldn't help Potter now."

"You're useless," Alastor said. "Not even worth the space in a cell."

He was about to leave when Dursley suddenly stood, a dark gleam in his eye. "You know, I think it's right interesting that you come here, making wild accusations and flaunting your abnormality." He began to pace, his visage darkening. "You think that you're untouchable because you can do things no normal person can. But I understand you, see? I know that, for all your bluster, you're just trying to hide the fact that you're the ones who didn't even realize your precious freak was missing for months!" He laughed. "You say you're in law enforcement, so I'm sure you know what happens to people who get kidnapped. A young girl like her… Well, one can only imagine what they've done to her, and you can only blame yourself for it." He grinned darkly, satisfied that he had found a way to strike back at the man who had so rudely intruded on his perfectly ordinary life.

Alastor stared, then shook his head. "You're out of your mind, Dursley. Maybe I should go have a chat with your wife, make sure you weren't… loose with any details. She's at her friend Yvonne's house now, isn't she? Might have to go pay a visit."

"What? You people are watching us?" Dursley was shouting now, apoplectic with rage.

Alastor just tapped his glowing eye. "That's right, Dursley. I've got my eye on you. So if you happen to recall anything else that might be useful, I suggest you don't wait months to report it, if you know what's good for you. Give Arabella a ring, and I'll be over before you know it." With a final spin of his eye, he Disapparated straight out of the living room, making Dursley jump and swear profusely. He had to talk to Albus.