Lily Potter shivered as she lit the last candle. Although it was not yet September, the twilight air carried a chill, and Lily found herself wishing she had brought her woolen coat with her. Oh well. It was too late to go back for it now, and if she did, she might not work up the courage to return. It had taken her the better part of an hour to find this place, repeatedly Apparating across the desolate landscape of central Wales. At last, she had located a suitable spot, in the shadow of a great mound of earth. She had had to work quickly to complete the preparations before the last rays of light slipped beneath the horizon.

Two interlocking pentagrams were carved into the loose earth, both enclosed by a circle. She had been forced to completely erase the carvings and start over twice already before managing to perfect them. She could not afford to fail in this task. Tallow candles sat at each point of the stars, weak flames shuddering against the evening breeze. She placed a wooden bowl of wild honey in the center of the ritual circle and rose to her feet, stepping back from the circle.

Every step had to be executed perfectly. This was not the type of magic taught at Hogwarts and for good reason. If James knew what she was doing… Well, best not to dwell on such things. James was not the one who had woken up in a cold sweat each day for months, certain beyond all reason that her daughter was in terrible danger. The Fidelius charm brought her some comfort, but she was all too aware that Voldemort had pushed the boundaries of magic further than any other. No, she was not confident in the supposed inviolability of the charm, even disregarding its obvious weakness.

She steadied herself and raised her wand. Only the mad, desperate, or foolish would take the path she had set herself on, and right now she suspected she was all three.

"Daughter of summer, regal in your hall of wood and bone," Lily sang, her voice delicate, but clear.

"Humbly, a soul of of iron seeks your name and invites you to walk the mortal land." Her voice was firmer now. For better or worse, she had chosen her path.

The breeze had stilled, and the flickering candle flames steadied. A shiver ran down Lily's spine as she began the next line.

"Noble lady, accept my offering so that I may entreat—" Lily's song was interrupted as a great gust of wind blew through, snuffing out the candles and plunging the ritual site into near darkness. Deeply and without the slightest hint of uncertainty, Lily knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

Warily, Lily drew her wand and conjured light. One of the few things all the sources she could find agreed on was that any wand magic was likely to spoil the ritual, but she could feel a cold stone of dread in her stomach, and she was not about to face it without a wand in her hand.

Suddenly, the ritual circle blazed blue. Lily staggered backward, but the light extinguished itself as quickly as it had come. Lily raised her wand once more, trying to peer into the impenetrable darkness outside of the reach of her light. She hoped that she had simply performed the ritual improperly, but all her instincts screamed that she was not alone. Had Voldemort come for her?

"You have a beautiful voice. It's a shame that you waste it on a whore of Summer."

Yelping in surprise, Lily whirled around, pointing her wand at a woman who had most assuredly not been standing there a moment ago. She was tall, as pale as bleached bone and, of course, impossibly beautiful. She wore a gossamer blue gown with the long skirt pinned up at her knees in a compromise to practicality. From a dark leather belt hung a sickle of bone. Its blade dripped a dark liquid that could only be blood. Lily could see more blood coating the woman's slender fingers and, worryingly, her lips.

"Tongue-tied?" the woman asked, her words carrying a faint accent that was somehow sharp. "It is not an uncommon reaction to my beauty. She pressed a finger to her bloody lips "Perhaps you invited me here to demonstrate the shortcomings of your husband?"

"I didn't invite you," Lily said, her wand still aimed at the woman. "What did you do?"

The woman clicked her tongue. "You know, that's a very good question. To be honest, I'm not entirely certain. Imagine my surprise when an utterly unremarkable Summer faerie received an invitation right in front of me! Why, I'm fairly sure she had never got one before. If she had known what she was doing, she might have even been able to use it to escape." The woman laughed. "She would have likely been very grateful. Not that the favor of a lowly dog of Summer is worth pursuing. How did you even come to know her Name in the first place?"

"I didn't. And you still haven't answered my question."

The woman laughed again, a sound that managed to convey absolutely no human warmth. "I am astounded. You put out a call to any of Summer who might listen and you get me. Such irony is a rare treasure." She smiled, showing sharp, bloody teeth. "As you are my generous host I shall, of course, satisfy your curiosity. I was in the midst of eviscerating your little faerie when she received your invitation. I decided to rip out her throat and answer it myself. Truthfully, I did not think it would work." She inhaled deeply, eyes closed in bliss. "Yet here I stand, my feet on mortal soil, breathing mortal air. Your incantation must have been very… unspecific."

Lily swallowed thickly. She had an uncomfortable suspicion that she knew what she had accidentally summoned. Her only hope was that the old Potter tome's claim that a lesser invitation such as the one she had performed would only allow a fae to walk the world for a single night was accurate. But she shuddered to imagine what chaos a Lady of Winter could wreak in even that time.

"What—what are you going to do?"

"To you? Nothing, unless you decide to take me up on my offer and pull that ring off your finger. You've done me a minor favor and your total naivete is rather charming. If you slip and impale yourself on an icicle, rest easy that it is your graceless movements to blame, not my ire." She licked her lips clean of blood and started on her fingers. "Alas, I must bid you adieu. Places to be, people to do, and not much time for either. I'm sure you understand."

The woman, if she could be described by such a word, spun her fingers, and a cool breeze picked up. She began to fade from sight.

"Wait!" Lily cried, without really thinking what she was saying. The fae immediately stopped fading and quirked her head.

"You're interested after all, then?"

"What? No, not that!" She would not blush. Not in front of this murderous… thing. "It's just… You're powerful, aren't you? A Lady?"

The fae smiled. It seemed she was not above flattery. "All power is relative, girl. And that pathetic summer spirit was like a campfire under the light of the moon." She took a step forward, and Lily forced herself not to retreat. "Do you desire power?"

"No." Lily knew that to answer that particular question in any other way would be folly beyond folly. "But I do need help. And maybe… You did say you owed me?"

Suddenly the fae abandoned all pretense of humanity. She did not reach for her sickle, but she fell utterly still and the temperature plummeted, making Lily shiver involuntarily. The heath beneath her feet cracked and froze. "I said no such thing, mortal. A favor unknowingly offered without intent or condition, I accepted. Should I offer a favor in return, it would of my own volition. Do not seek to twist my words; it is not a contest you would survive intact."

Lily shivered again, and not from the cold. Supposedly, fae had some fear of wand wizards, but she did not think the sort of magic they feared was the type she was capable of casting. And, to her great regret, she was not carrying any iron.

"I apologize for my ill-considered words. I meant only that one of your power and nobility could surely accomplish great deeds, and that, perhaps, you might be inclined to listen to my plea."

The monster before her relaxed, and in her place stood a woman once more. "Perhaps. You must be desperate indeed to seek my aid. Present your plea."

She tapped her foot on the ground, and the long grass of the moorlands were covered by a sheet of black ice. From the ice arose a throne, which she settled into, one leg draped languidly over its arm. She motioned with her arm, and Lily took that as her queue to speak.

"My-my daughter. She's in danger, and I can't protect her alone. If I don't do anything she will die, I'm sure of it. I will do anything to save her."

"Anything?"

"Yes," Lily said with only a moment's hesitation.

"Intriguing." The fae was now running a wood comb through her long hair, white as snow. It was completely pointless, of course. Lily would swallow her wand if the fae had ever had so much as a knot in her hair. "But what threat could possibly drive you to me?"

Lily hesitated for a moment, then another. But she had already cast the dice when she had asked the fae to stay. She had no other choice.

"There is a... prophecy."

Suddenly, she had the fae's fullest attention. The comb lay forgotten, and she swung her leg back over the throne's arm, as if preparing to rise. Cold blue eyes locked with her own. "Your daughter?"

"Likely. There is one other, but—"

"You will recount the prophecy." It was not a request.

Lily swallowed and began to voice the words she would never forget, however long she might live. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, borne on winds of sleet and hail… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will know not their threat, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other for neither will rest while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

"Remarkable," the fae breathed. "That I was brought here, your crude ritual… It all becomes clear. Fate shines upon us this night." Her eyes gleamed. "You seek protection from the Dark Lord? A mortal, yes?"

"Yes," said Lily. She hoped it was true, for Violet's sake.

"I will help you. In exchange, a small favor. Nothing too onerous, but it would not do for me to mock Fate's masterwork by acting for naught."

Lily had a bad feeling about what the fae considered a 'small favor.' And she certainly was not thrilled by her fascination with the prophecy. But if she was going to back out, it would have been long ago. "What favor?"

The fae tented her fingers, in apparent thought. "You are a curious mortal," she said. "When faced with a terrifying, incomprehensible threat you seek the aid of an even more alien being. I like that about you, girl, and you should be thankful, for otherwise you would have little to offer me."

She rose from her throne, elegant and imperial. She had let out her skirt at some point, and with the silky cloth covering her feet, she seemed to glide rather than walk. "I offer you a lifetime in the form of your daughter's life. In exchange, I ask for seven years, to be paid starting seven years from this night."

A cold feeling fell over Lily. To leave James and Violet to go… Wherever the fae came from… It was a hard notion to accept. But at least it was not a lifetime of servitude. Really, seven years was far more generous than she would have imagined possible from a Winter fae.

For Violet, she would have given her entire life. There was no debate.

"Yes. If you can save my daughter, then I agree."

"Excellent."

The fae plucked three strands of her hair and deftly wove them together into a sort of triangle. The hairs hovered above the ground in front of her. Then she drew her sickle. Lily flinched involuntarily as the fae drove the point of the sickle through the palm of her hand. Blood fell over the hair like a dark curtain. Finally, she replaced her sickle and wrapped a white cloth seemingly produced from nowhere around her hand. It immediately turned red.

When Lily looked back at the fae's creation, she was astounded to see the white hairs had become thin silver chains, terminating in a pendant set with a tiny diamond. Despite its size, she could sense a terrible power contained within.

"There," said the fae. "Keep that around your daughter's neck and live without fear. Now, I am afraid I really must go. It's been an unexpected pleasure."

Lily blinked. Had she really succeeded against all odds?

"I'll see you in seven years, I suppose," she said, a little shakily.

The fae smirked, showing the most real emotion she had all night. "Perhaps." Then she clicked her fingers and disappeared, leaving behind only her crystalline throne.

~#~

October 31st, 1981

It was cold. A northern wind had blown through the previous night, unusually bitter for the time of year, and blanketed the ground in snow from Cornwall to the Thames. The inclement weather had driven the inhabitants of the sleepy village into their homes before nightfall, bringing an early end to the Halloween festivities. The snow coated streets were left empty, but for one.

A tall and slender figure, clad in dark robes, ghosted along the desolate streets, his footfalls leaving no impression upon the snow.

A momentous day, he thought. Fitting, to secure my immortality on the day when the veil is thinnest. Even the cold air seemed to celebrate his presence, the ground and sky humming with magic, a song for him and him alone. Yes, a momentous day indeed.

At last, he reached his destination. The cottage stood bright and cheerful against the cold, wisps of smoke rising from its chimney. Most importantly, it was unhidden and unprotected. Voldemort made a soft sound of amusement. It was the fundamental flaw of the Fidelius, after all. No secondary wards of note could be layered upon a location thus concealed, lest the Fidelius be left fragile and prone to collapse. It required complete and total trust in another, that trust the key to both the charm's protection and its vulnerability. It was why he would never make use of the spell himself, useful as it might be. To trust another so utterly was anathema to him, and the Potters' ill-advised choice of Pettigrew only reinforced his belief that one could only depend on themselves, in the end. It was why he stood here alone, today.

A wand slipped into long fingers. Cold wood blazed with heat. A careless motion, and the cottage's front door dissolved into fire and ash. He strode though the threshold, heedless of the tongues of flame that licked at his robes.

A man cried out in fear and anger—James, then—as he charged into the room, wand grasped in his hand. "Lily! It's him! Take Violet and run!"

Voldemort laughed. Once, he had sought to recruit James to his cause, but seeing him now, more terrified than angry, cheeks still flushed from now forgotten merriment, he found himself wondering what he had ever seen in the man. Pure blood only went so far, after all.

Finally, James cast his first spell, a Transfiguration spell intended to animate the cottage's furniture in defense of its inhabitants. Voldemort, well aware of James' talent in the field and uninterested in being clobbered by chair legs or choked by drapery, struck before the magic could finish forming, his wand arm a dark blur.

Avada Kedavra! Reducto! Avada Kedavra! Confringo!

The first Killing Curse forced James to dive to the side, abandoning his attempt at offense. Partially animated furniture stumbled lamely as the Reductor curse struck the ground in front of James, spraying him with splinters. Grunting in pain and barely avoiding the second Killing Curse, he managed to erect a shield before Voldemort's blasting curse struck, which shattered his shield and sent him sprawling into a sofa, now set aflame by the curse. Voldemort raised his wand to deal a final blow, but instead whirled to the side as if warned by prescience. A piercing curse flashed by him, boring a hole into the wall behind him. It seemed Lily Potter had decided to stand by her husband after all.

"Lily Potter. Stand aside and you will be spar—" Voldemort's words were interrupted by a furious volley of iridescent spells. He took the opportunity to deflect a particularly unpleasant purple curse into James as he tried to rise to his feet. Voldemort watched with some interest as the man's chest erupted in a spray of blood and bone and he crumpled back to the ground.

"James…" Lily whispered softly, eyes on James' still form. Then, she looked at Voldemort, and he knew that he would not be able to keep his promise to Severus tonight.

Lily's wrath lent her spells power, but Voldemort knew anger, knew hatred. It would not be enough to save her from him. Calmly, coldly, he dodged, deflected and shielded against Lily's attack. Soon, he recognized his opportunity, noting her imprecise wand movements. His eyes met hers, and she was in no state to guard her mind. He saw her intent and blocked a half-formed spell and, before she could recover, counterattacked for the first time. He jabbed his wand and there was a great crash of thunder as a brilliant flash of lighting leapt from his wand to strike Lily. She fell.

Nostrils flaring at the scent of ozone in the air, he advanced on her still form. No, not quite still, he noted. Her fingers twitched slightly but not through any conscious action on her part. Deep, weeping fractal burns were visible on her exposed skin, and smoke rose from her clothes and hair. He picked up her fallen wand and pocketed it, then leaned down and peeled back one of her eyelids. It was the work of a moment to verify that, although she still drew breath, her mind had been damaged beyond repair. He would not mock Severus by 'sparing' her in this state.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a final burst of green, and Voldemort rose to his feet. He flicked his wand, extinguishing the flames ignited by his blasting curse, and again to clear the air of smoke. He brushed some powdered plaster off his robes and looked over to James' corpse, which lay in a steadily growing pool of blood.

He idly wondered if Lily had blamed herself for the death of her husband. It would have been entirely irrational of course; even if she had cast the curse, it was Voldemort's intent that saw it kill James. But in his experience, most people were not capable of such objectivity when the deaths of their loved ones were involved.

One more, and it will be done. A quick spell was all that it took to locate Violet Potter, and he silently ascended the staircase, intent on bringing an end to the prophecy. The magic he had felt in the air earlier was stronger now, and the air was cold enough to make his breath fog. He strode through the doorway to Violet's room and gazed upon the one with the power to vanquish him.

The baby was entirely unremarkable. There was no dark genius in her eyes, no promise of future power. Worse, she was crying, a grating and infuriating sound. Perhaps that could be explained by her blue fingers and lips. Really, it was unnaturally cold. Perhaps it was some type of accidental magic from the child? He doubted the Potters kept their home so cold intentionally.

He raised his wand, intent on removing the last threat to his immortality and stopping the accursed wailing alike. He breathed in and out once, savoring the moment. Soon, he would create his sixth Horcrux and complete the path he set on so many years ago. He nodded. It was time.

"Avada Ke—" Too late, he sensed the trap. A tiny pendant wrapped around Violet's neck flared blue, then white, and a wave of terrible cold washed over the Dark Lord. Frost coated his fingers and he stumbled backward, already twisting to Disapparate to safety. But he was too slow, and with a sound like shattering ice, there was a great eruption of magical power, and Voldemort was powerless to defend himself as his flesh was ripped apart and his soul was wrenched from his body.

~#~

An old man in bright purple robes stood beneath a curiously unlit street lamp, his vibrant garments barely visible in the gloom. To any outward observer he would have seemed utterly calm, perhaps a slightly eccentric old man waiting for a car. However, Albus Dumbledore was waiting for another, who would be carrying either the daughter of two of his most promising students or the grim news of her death.

Sharp eyes peered into the clouded sky and could just barely pick out a dark, silent shape descending downward. The massive motorcycle touched down without a sound and the mountain of a man astride it dismounted with a heavy sigh.

"Rubeus, were you able to retrieve Violet?" asked Dumbledore. "Does she yet live?"

"Yes, sir. She does, thank the stars. But she's hurt. I wasn' able to do nuttin' 'bout it, but I knew if I could get her to you she'd be alright. Young Sirius Black lent me his motorbike, bless 'im."

Hurriedly, Dumbledore drew his wand and began casting magic over the baby. He let out an imperceptible sigh of relief when he realized she was not seriously injured. A few scratches and cuts, perhaps from shrapnel. But nothing remotely approaching what Voldemort would surely have done to her.

"And Voldemort?"

Hagrid flinched, but steadied himself. "Dead, sir. Dead as somethin' like 'im can be, anyway. Saw 'is body myself, though there wasn' much left but bloody, frozen cloth. And Lily… And James." He snuffled and wiped at his eyes with a dirty shirtsleeve.

"So it is done. Alas, I fear their remarkable sacrifice has granted us only a temporary reprieve. Voldemort will surely rise again. We will have to be ready." Dumbledore frowned as some of his diagnostic spells returned anomalous readings.

"Rubeus, I need you to tell me everything you can about what happened there, particularly the state of the house. Even seemingly insignificant details could be of crucial importance," Dumbledore said.

"Er, I'll do my best, sir. Little Violet's room was blasted ter bits. Some sorta explosion, I reckon, 'cept it was all icy-like."

"Ice?"

"Yeah. Cold as a mountain in winter, too. Don' know how Violet could stand it, but she was warm as can be. An' there was something else…" Hagrid trailed off, uncertain.

"Go on, Rubeus. I trust your instincts," the old man said gently.

"Well somethin' 'bout it just didn' feel right. In me blood."

Dumbledore frowned. Hagrid's magical heritage occasionally offered him unusual insight, especially when dealing with the darker areas of magic. Was he just reacting to Voldemort's presence, or was there something deeper going on?

"Well, there was surely a great deal of terrible magic performed in that place. Perhaps—"

"No, sir. Sorry sir, but I know what magic feels like, an' it's not tha'. It felt like.. Like I needed to get away. Far away as I could." He shuddered.

Dumbledore put a hand other man's shoulder, touched by his courage. A man with no more than a third year's magical education had braved a collapsing house, the possible presence of a man so terrible his name was not spoken in Britain, and his very instincts to save a baby girl. It was a humbling thought.

More concerningly, he had not the faintest idea what could have been the source of Hagrid's apprehension. Unless?

Breathing deeply, he slowly extended his magic over the sleeping baby. It was no true spell, as it had no incantation or wand motion. Rather, it was an expression of his deep mastery over magic, a blanket of intent designed to identify anything that should not be. Alas, he did not come up empty handed.

There was something influencing young Violet. It seemed the source was several minute shards of glass within her cuts. Or perhaps a gemstone? He frowned. They were dissolving into her bloodstream before his eyes and removing them before they dissolved fully was infeasible. It would not be accurate to describe the force's presence as a taint, for it was clearly not malevolent towards her. In fact, he was now quite certain that he had ascertained the source of the explosion that had saved Violet and forced Voldemort out of his body. The alien magic felt cold and crisp, beautiful and terrible, and above all else, Other.

"Oh, Lily. What have you done?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Wha' was tha', sir?"

He sighed. "Nothing, Rubeus. You have done a great thing tonight, and I thank you. I will take Violet from here. I suspect that people are celebrating far and wide, and I would not want to keep you from the merriment."

Hagrid sniffed wetly. "Don' think it'd feel right, sir. Not without Lily and James an' with Violet losin' her parents."

To Dumbledore's shock, he felt his own eyes itching. Hagrid's simple honesty and compassion never failed to surprise him. "Then grieve, Rubeus. But do not be afraid to smile. You have lost as much to this war as any other, and Lily and James gave their lives for us all."

Hagrid nodded. "Thank yeh, sir. I reckon I'll take the motorbike back to Black, if I can fin' him. Bloke disappeared after handin' over Violet."

He waved his farewell to Dumbledore and climbed back upon the motorcycle, ascending upwards into the sky. Dumbledore watched him shrink to a dot and fade away, then looked down at the baby in his arms. He only hoped that he was not making a mistake by leaving her with her relatives. But they were her family, and bonds of blood should not be broken lightly. Hopefully, they would give her the love and acceptance she would need in the absence of her parents.

He left Violet on the steps of a nondescript suburban home with a handwritten note. Then, with a final, lingering look at the girl who Fate had most assuredly not finished with, clicked the device in his pocket to restore the streetlamps' light and Disapparated.

~#~

Somewhere between Nowhere and Everywhere, a spirit, less than the meanest ghost, howled out its agony and rage, thinking of naught but vengeance.

AN:

Welcome to Sleet and Hail, everyone. There are obviously some profoundly AU elements, but this will ultimately be a story about the world of Harry Potter and its primary focus will respect that.

I'm planning to update at least once per week, at least at first. We'll see how that goes. I do have a number of chapters already written that I will post as soon as I've finished proofreading them.

If you have any thoughts about the story, reviews are obviously appreciated. By the same token, if you notice typographical or grammatical errors, let me know and I'll fix them.

- Friss