Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley. What kind of name is that, anyway? Violet thought as she passed a street sign for the third time. It was her first time in the mortal world in over three years. She had forgotten just how busy and loud it was. More than once, a backfiring car had sent her reflexively diving for cover, and the throngs of people bustling about set her nerves on edge. Thankfully, her young age excused any strange behavior in the eyes of the public.
A few days ago, she had received a letter delivered, rather bizarrely, by owl. The poor thing was half frozen by the time it arrived, but it had pulled through in the end. Obviously, she wasn't going to be leaving the Wyld to attend some sort of boarding school, and she'd been all set to burn the letter when Satria got a brilliant idea. She'd decided that this was an opportune moment for Violet to begin visiting the mortal world, both to grow more accustomed to it and to develop her mortal magic. Violet had been perfectly on board with that. Unfortunately, Satria had not the faintest idea where in the mortal world to find wands, cauldrons, toads, or anything else of the sort other than that, "London's a good bet. They get all sorts there."
And so Violet had come to the mortal world. The transition was surprisingly easy. When one had access to a fae court, it was simply a matter of falling asleep with the intention of waking elsewhere. At least, it was for a mortal. Fae could only walk the mortal world for a single day and night each year, unless invited by a mortal, like Violet's mother. Violet had awoken in a dirty London alleyway and had immediately begun wandering, peering into the minds of as many people as she could.
Alas, it seemed the magical world was well concealed, for only one person so far even believed in it. Apparently they were some sort of "squib." Violet had tried to take as many memories as she could, but the squat man had gotten on a bus and she hadn't been fast enough to catch up. At least she'd learned she was looking for some sort of "Diagon Alley."
Worst of all, it was raining. Violet didn't mind the rain itself, quite liked it even, but the rain meant fewer pedestrians, which meant less chance of encountering another squib. Frustrated, she kicked the corner of a building and swore when a chunk of the old cement broke off, the edges frosting over. She hadn't meant to put quite that much force into it. A vagrant sheltering from the rain under the building's eaves snickered at her, and she raised her hand in a rude gesture.
"Would someone fucking tell me how to get to Diagon All—" BANG!
Violet dove backwards into a puddle, hand clasping over the grip of a concealed knife. She rose, and cursed again. Rather than a monster, mugger, Summer Fae, or some other relief from monotony, a purple triple-decker monstrosity of a bus had appeared in the street. Astonishingly, the vagrant hadn't even looked up at it. She let go of the knife and set about purging the water from her sodden clothes in puffs of icy vapor.
"Oi there!" came a voice from the bus. "You called? Got somewhere to be?"
Violet frowned. If she'd hailed this bus, it hadn't been on purpose. Still, maybe it was just what she was looking for. It was clearly magical in nature, after all.
"Can you take me to a 'Diagon Alley?'"
"'Course, 'course. Just hop on."
Warily, Violet climbed onto the hideously painted bus. Barely any of the seats were occupied. A fat man slumbered in one, drooling slightly. Two old women sat next to each other, chattering softly. All three wore robes. Violet grinned.
"Wha's your name then?" asked the pockmarked man who had invited her on. "I'm Stan Shunpike, conductor o' the Knight Bus."
"Right. I'm, uh, Valentina Frost," Violet said, saying the first name that popped into her head.
"Pleased to meet ya, Valentina. You 'eading for Diagon? That'll be eleven sickles. Thirteen if ya want hot chocolate, or fifteen if ya be wantin' a hot water bottle an' a toothbrush in any color o' your likin'."
Violet ignored his obviously well practiced spiel as she considered. She hadn't known wizards had a separate currency. Briefly, she considered threatening the rather pathetic man into waiving the fee but thought better of it. She pulled a velvet pouch from her pocket and poked through it for a moment.
"Will you take this?" she asked, holding a small sapphire between her fingers.
Shunpike's eyes widened. "Blimey, is tha' real? Er, I think that might be worth more than eleven sickles. Or even fifteen!"
Violet rolled her eyes. Overpaying or not, it wasn't like it would so much as dent the vast coffers of the court, especially as swollen as they were after looting the court of the slain Summer Lord. She'd see about selling some of the gems and gold in her pouch for proper currency after getting to Diagon.
"Look, will you take it or not?" she asked.
A greedy look entered Shunpike's eyes. "Tell ya what. This is right irregular, it is, but I'll pay your fee if ya give me that rock. It can be our little secret, it can."
"Sure. Whatever." Violet tossed him the gem, and he barely managed to avoid dropping it. With a contemptuous snort, she took a seat as far away from any of the other passengers as possible.
The bus started moving with a violent lurch and loud bang. Violet watched with mild interest as the scenery blurred around them and obstacles warped out of the way. Was this a characteristic use of mortal magic? Winter magic would never be so… uncouth, but then, it wasn't like they had any magical buses themselves, and Violet couldn't deny that it was quite useful. Eventually, the ride smoothed out, and after a stop where the chatting witches got off, they arrived at Diagon Alley.
"Pleasure doin' business with ya. Talk to Tom if ya need help gettin' into the alley," Shunpike said as she got off the bus.
Violet got off the bus, finding herself in another alley, visually indistinguishable from the one she had boarded the Knight Bus on. Most of the buildings seemed to be abandoned, but at the end of alley, a dingy sign hung proclaiming the building to be the Leaky Cauldron. She raised an eyebrow. It was not exactly a name that inspired confidence. If Shunpike had dropped her off at some random rundown old bar, she'd have to track him down and teach him… manners.
She shouldered open the heavy oak door and was immediately assaulted by the scent of alcohol and old sweat. More important was the palpable air of something more, something that had been absent throughout the rest of the mortal world. She breathed deeply, relishing in the faint tingle of power that settled in the base of her skull. Maybe Shunpike wasn't so bad after all.
The building was larger than she had expected from the outside and considerably more spacious. Robed figures sat around worn oak tables, and there was a faint haze of smoke in the air. The ancient stone walls were lit by flickering werelight emanating from points of multicolored light, which drifted about the ceiling.
Violet approached the bar, which had two men, presumably wizards, sitting in front of it. Considering the time of day, it wasn't surprising that they seemed to be more engaged in talking to the wizened old bartender than actually buying drinks. She rapped on the bar to get his attention.
"Hello there. What can I get you?" he asked.
"Are you Tom?"
"That's me," he said, smiling indulgently.
"Great," she muttered. "I was told you could help me get to Diagon Alley?"
"Ah, of course, of course. You'd be a new Hogwarts student then?"
"Yes," Violet said, seeing no need to reveal more information than necessary. "My name's Valentina."
With a good-natured warning to the wizards to keep their hands off the drinks, he led Violet through a back room in the pub, which opened into a small courtyard.
"You're a muggleborn then?" he asked.
Violet raised an eyebrow. "'Muggle?'"
"Ah, that's what non-magical folk are called." He frowned. "Normally they'd tell you about that sort of thing when they delivered your letter." He rapped his wand on the brick wall at the back of the courtyard, and Violet's eyes widened as the bricks split apart to form a passageway. She carefully memorized the pattern of bricks he tapped.
"I see. Well, I'm not born of these 'muggles.' I've simply been away from Britain for a time. Thanks for your help, Mr…"
"Tom. Just Tom. And it's my pleasure to help young witches and wizards find their way around the magical world." He extended a hand, and she shook it. "If you forget the pattern, let me know and I'd be happy to show it again."
"One last thing," said Violet. "Do you happen to know the best place to exchange precious stones and metals for Wizarding currency?"
Tom rubbed his gray beard. "Well, your best bet would likely be the goblins at Gringotts. They love their gold, goblins do."
"Thank you. I appreciate the assistance," Violet said politely.
Tom grinned. "Enjoy your time in Diagon, and if you get hungry, don't forget to stop for a bite to eat on the way back." Stills smiling broadly, he waved goodbye, muttering something about untrustworthy warlocks sneaking drinks while he was gone.
Violet laughed and entered the Alley, taking in her surroundings. They were impressive, and were she not used to the ethereal beauty of the Wyld, she might have been taken aback. Tall buildings loomed over the cobble streets, and witches, wizards, and other curious beings bustled around as hawkers extolled the virtues of their products.
Gringotts first, Violet thought.
Thankfully, the massive stone bank was not difficult to find. Heavily fortified and consisting entirely of gleaming white stone, it loomed over the surrounding buildings in a grand statement of wealth and military splendor. Figures thronged about the grand entrance, while goblin guards stood on either side. Violet suppressed a sneer at their appearance. They bore a strong resemblance to several particularly loathsome species of lesser Sidhe, though they clearly had no relation as evidenced by their iron weapons and armor. It would not do to act crudely, at least not before they provoked her ire.
There were long winding queues to each teller, and Violet resignedly entered one. Over fifteen minutes later, she finally reached the front of the queue.
"Business?" snapped the goblin.
"I want to exchange gold and gems for Wizarding currency. I was told I could do that here," she said.
"Not in this line, you can't," the goblin said gleefully. "You'll have to climb to the seventh story and go to the Commodities Exchange and talk to Borgrock to pick up form F-92b, for the exchange of non trivial material goods. Then you come back here, give me the form, and Glimlock will get you your gold." His tone was reverent at the thought of such bureaucracy.
Violet suppressed a groan. "Fine. I also want to inquire about a possible account I may have inherited."
"That's on this floor," the goblin said regretfully. "Take two lefts, a right, then on down to the Department of Inheritance and Bereavement. You'll want to talk to Tangleclaw." He smirked. "I await your form F-92b. NEXT!"
Violet walked off. With a grim look at the towering spiral staircases leading to the upper floors, she decided to try the inheritance first. Satria had mentioned the possibility of her parents leaving her gold, and she would prefer to avoid any trips up seven flights of stairs if she could.
After making her way through the winding halls of Gringotts, Violet finally managed to find Tangleclaw. He was berating a trio of lower ranking goblins in Gobbledygook and whacking them with a twisted wooden walking stick. Violet waited patiently for him to finish.
"Are you lost, human?" he abruptly.
"I don't think so. I want to inquire about the existence of a vault that I may—"
"Yes, yes, I know," said Tangleclaw. "Name of the vault?" His tone was somewhere between boredom and resentment.
Violet leaned forward and said softly, "Potter."
Tangleclaw snorted, greenish mucus landing on his desk. "Right, sure, 'Miss Potter.'" A look of vicious pleasure crossed his face. "Follow me to my office, you can take a formal and binding bloodline test."
Violet was rapidly beginning to regret deciding to avoid antagonizing the goblins.
Tangleclaw's office was cramped. He took a seat behind his desk, which had a bloodstained curved dagger plunged into it, pinning several papers to it. More stacks of paper, some teetering dangerously, covered the desk and floor, and Violet had to gingerly step around them.
Tangleclaw rifled through one of the desk's drawers, finally pulling out a yellowed sheet of parchment. "All right, then. If you're who you say you are, just put a drop of blood on this." His tone made it clear what he thought about the possibility of her telling the truth. He offered her the grimy dagger.
Violet gave it a revolted look and drew her own. "What's supposed to happen if it works?" she asked dubiously.
The goblin sighed. "The blood will form your family tree, then combust. If you really are Violet Potter, you will receive access to any vaults bequeathed to you."
Violet shrugged and drew the knife across her hand, drawing considerably more than a drop of blood. She "carelessly" spilled blood over several of the goblin's stacks of papers, earning her a dirty look. She smirked and dripped the rest on the parchment, then set about channeling her Winter magic to heal the cut.
The goblin looked on with increasing incredulity as the blood shifted into thin lines and the ornately written names of her family tree. Finally, the name "Violet Lily Potter" formed, and the goblin waited tensely for the parchment's final judgment.
To his shock, instead of burning, the blood froze over, then dissolved into a fine red dust. He muttered something in Gobbledygook that was likely profanity and began prodding the parchment suspiciously.
"Well? It worked, didn't it?" Violet said.
"Not quite. It was supposed to burn if you were accepted. If you were rejected, well… you'd know it. This, on the other hand, I haven't seen before." The goblin tapped a long finger against his chin thoughtfully.
"So? Is it valid?"
"Well, the regulation for the assessment of of blood relations states that, "And shall the Blood react, the Human speaks truly; Should they be overtaken by Agony and Weakness, they are thus proven forsworn."
Violet raised an eyebrow. He hadn't mentioned any "Agony and Weakness" before she'd taken the test. "Well, I feel fine, and the blood reacted. There shouldn't be any problem then."
"Hmm." The goblin leaned back in his seat. "This is irregular."
Violet groaned.
It turned out that irregular meant paperwork. A lot of paperwork. She filled out form after form of largely redundant forms. She was starting to suspect that half of them were entirely for Tangleclaw's amusement—after all, what did Form S-14c, for the importation and distribution of Flobbberworms, have to do with her blood test? Still, she filled them out without complaint and leaned back, resting her sore hand.
"Hmm, yes, yes," the goblin said. "I'll have to take this to my superior. It is very irregular, after all. I'll be back… promptly."
For fuck's sake.
The Goblin left her in the office, chortling audibly as he did. Violet decided that if she met him in a dark alley, she would eviscerate him.
Almost an hour later, there was still no sign of Tangleclaw, and Violet was starting to suspect that he'd gone to get lunch. Bored, she leafed through some of his papers, which only made her more bored. Goblins really seemed to love paperwork, disturbingly so. She hadn't seen any female goblins and mused that perhaps they somehow reproduced asexually with the aid of their beloved paperwork. That was when she got a wonderful idea.
Tangleclaw clearly took great pride in his immaculately organized paperwork. Each pile was organized, in lexicographical or chronological order. He must have enjoyed organizing all of these papers, Violet thought. It was only the decent thing to do to give him another chance to do what he loved. She grinned and cracked her fingers. She'd have to be quick if she wanted to finish all the papers before he came back.
Half an hour later, Tangleclaw returned. He was dismayed to see Violet infuriatingly cheerful. She'd just finished with the last stack of paper. Each one had been thoroughly shuffled, except for the top paper that she'd left as it was. It would take him a short eternity to fix, and the thought brought her much joy.
"Well," the goblin said reluctantly, "it would seem that your blood test result was acceptable." He shuffled through the stack of papers he was holding. "Lily and James Potter left to you a vault. The current key is in the possession of, ah, Albus Dumbledore, the executor of their will. A new key will be issued to you, and the current one will be deactivated. Replacement keys cost twenty galleons, even if it is lost to thievery, natural disaster, war, ingestion, experimentation, insertion—"
"I get it," Violet said. "Are we done?"
"Almost," Tangleclaw said. "You just need to fill out Form B-06a, for the acknowledgment of Gringott's acknowledgment of your assumption of ownership of the vaults in question."
Violet sighed and reached for her quill. She should have put a rotting curse on his papers.
~#~
The goblin who had taken her to her vault had mercifully been more useful and had been willing to explain the incomprehensible denominations of Wizarding currency, as well as the exchange rate with pounds—about fifteen pounds to the galleon, currently. Violet was now 150 gold coins heavier, and hadn't even had to sell the precious gems and metals she had brought from the Wyld.
Some brief eye contact with a rather scrawny wizard informed her that nearly all British witches and wizards bought their wands from a man named Ollivander, so she set off there first. She was itching to finally get her hands on a wand.
She entered the dimly lit, seemingly empty, shop and looked carefully around. Suddenly, she heard a creaking behind her, and whirled about, frost gathering in her palms. She relaxed when she saw it was only an old man. He had piercing blue eyes which lingered on the dissipating Winter magic.
"Violet Potter," he whispered. "I suspected I would see you in my shop one of these days." He stepped forward, ghosting silently over the wood floor. "I sold both of your parents their wands, you know. I never forget a wand." He stared at her, and Violet found her mental probes were unable to gain any purchase. How had he known her real name? "But you're nothing like your parents, are you?"
"Well," said Violet, "I didn't exactly get the chance to know them, you know?"
"Of course, of course. I regret to say that I sold the wand that struck them down—yew with phoenix feather it was, a powerful wand to be sure. Destined for great things, I knew even then. Terrible, but great."
"Right," said Violet. The old man seemed, well, dubiously sane, but she wouldn't complain if it meant she got a wand capable of 'great and terrible things.'"
"Ah, but you'll be needing a wand, won't you? Not to worry, not to worry." He plucked a wand off a shelf and held it out to her. "Apple and unicorn tail. Give it a wave—no, no, that won't do at all." He plucked the wand out of her hand the moment she touched it and replaced it, muttering under his breath.
"Not apple, certainly. A combative wood, that's it." More loudly, he said, "You've seen your share of violence, yes? Of course, of course, with the touch of the Fair."
Violet froze. "What did you just say?"
Ollivander chuckled, a dry and rasping sound like old parchment. "To those who know how to look, you wear your allegiance like a frozen crown. The Ollivanders have dealt with the ageless before, oh yes. Cruel, but ever fair."
Blinking slowly, Violet took the old man in in a new light. To have successfully treated with the fae was extremely rare. Clearly there was more to him than appearance would suggest.
"I'm sure I don't have to warn you to keep your own counsel in this matter?" she said mildly.
"Why, of course not. I am no fool. Here, try this, Aspen with dragon heartstring," he said, handing her the wand. It, too, was pulled from her fingers immediately, along with numerous more wands afterward.
"You're a tricky customer, aren't you? Unsuited for phoenix feathers, for obvious reasons, and unicorn tail would make for perhaps an even poorer match. Try this one." The wand was yew with dragon heartstring, and it felt peculiar in her hand. It was the first to provoke a reaction, a slight vibration, but it didn't feel quite right. Ollivander clearly agreed, for he took it back.
"I see, I see. I think I know what you need." He disappeared into the back of his shop and returned covered in cobwebs and clutching a long wand in his fingers. "Try this one, I am certain," he said in a breathy voice.
The moment her fingers curled around the wand, a shock of cold rushed down her forearm, dissolving into pleasant tingles. A pale blue light shone from the wand's tip, and frost crept up along the shop's windows. Violet grinned. "This is it," she whispered.
"I thought it might be," said Ollivander, sounding rather proud. "It was one of my father's. I have precious few of his remaining, and I am always pleased to find a match for one. He was rather more adventurous in his selection of components than I, but sometimes that is what is needed for a good match."
"What's the core?" Violet asked. The wood was clearly yew.
"Thestral hair," he breathed. "A rare, temperamental, and often disloyal core. It is said that to master it, a wizard must have no fear of death. Perhaps you agree?"
"We all die eventually," Violet said. "We can only hope to see our enemies slain first."
Ollivander chuckled. "Ah, there's the Winter in you. The wood is yew of course, symbolizing a power over life and death; with it, you will take the lives of your enemies while guarding your own." His eyes sharpened. "A wand destined for greatness, I think. Thirteen inches, and unyielding, as it happens."
Violet ran the cool wood against her cheek. She could swear that it was whispering to her. "How much?"
"That wand, Miss Potter, will cost you seventy galleons."
"So much?" The scrawny wizard had thought it would only cost seven galleons.
"Normally, the Ministry of Magic subsidizes my wands so that they cost seven galleons, no more and no less. In exchange, I add each wand to their Trace." His curiously vivid eyes peered at her. "But I am not so foolish to add a tracking enchantment to the wand of one your particular… affiliation. As such, it is ineligible for the subsidy."
Violet shrugged. The price was more than fair. She could feel the power in the wand and would pay nearly any price for it, but seventy galleons was a considerable portion of what she had withdrawn from her vault. She really, really didn't want to have to go back to Gringotts.
"Perhaps you would consider this instead?" She offered him a sizeable and perfectly clear diamond from her pouch.
Ollivander eyed it carefully. "Beautiful," he said. "Its cold is palpable. The wand is yours, Miss Potter, and I shall include a complementary holster. Wield it well, until the end."
As Violet left the wand shop, she couldn't keep a grin off her face. The wand felt like it was a part of her, like she had been fundamentally incomplete until this moment. Now she had only to learn mortal magic.
She next stopped at Twifiltt and Tattings, where she bought a pair of silk robes and slipped them over her red blouse and charcoal slacks. They were quite fashionable—much lighter and closely fitting than the ridiculous baggy robes she had seen on many passersby. Even better, the robes would be excellent for concealing weapons. She admired herself in the mirror. The fine robes combined with her pale skin and sharp, elegant features, courtesy of Winter's touch, to make her look older than her years would suggest. Cold eyes stared back at her, without the need for the glasses she had once worn. She traced a finger over the thin scars on her face, even paler than the surrounding skin. Barely visible, they were the memento of the Reviled's crude firearm. She had other scars, too, but they were not so easily visible.
Violet last destination was a bookstore named Flourish and Blotts, where she purchased the entire booklist on her acceptance letter. Even though she wouldn't be attending Hogwarts, it was a logical starting point for learning mortal magic. She'd also opted to buy The Standard Book of Spells for each grade following the first, along with a number of other interesting looking tomes. Too eager to wait, she had begun to read them in one of the store's comfortable armchairs. The warmly lit and pleasantly cluttered surroundings were unlike anything to be found in Satria's court and Violet found the experience refreshing.
She first leafed through A History of Magic. Since she knew nothing of the mortal magical world, it was imperative that she learn all she could. Unfortunately, it seemed to consist mostly of ancient history with little modern relevance. Irritated, she bought A Contemporary Magical History, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. She was shocked to learn that she was famous for the defeat of "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." She, of course, knew Satria and her mother were responsible, but the Wizarding world seemed to think a baby had somehow defeated the most powerful dark wizard since Grindelwald. She snorted.
Much more interesting were the tantalizing hints of powerful magic—the Killing Curse was particularly interesting, but as the more interesting magics were apparently illegal, she doubted she would find any information on casting them in a store like this. Eventually, with the sky darkening and her stomach growling in discontent, she left the shop. She returned to the Leaky Cauldron, where she had a steak and kidney pie. She also rented a room from a reluctant Tom, who was starting to grow noticeably worried over her lack of parents. She would have to either find a landlord who asked fewer questions or come up with a convincing lie eventually. Perhaps she would find a suitable inn on her planned visit to the enticingly shady Knockturn Alley.
Ah, now this is better, thought Violet as the hag leered hungrily at her. She leered back from under her hood.
Come on. Try it.
The hag seemed to think better of it and stalked away. Violet smirked. Knockturn had so far met her expectations wonderfully. Shady hooded characters slunk through the streets, and the towering, crooked buildings managed to create a gloomy atmosphere even in the middle of the day. The only downside was that no one seemed to want to meet her eyes, making her—Legilimency, as she had learned the previous day—trick ineffective.
She had tried a number of spells the previous day and had found that they came easily. Likely, her experimentation with wandless mortal magic provided a great advantage. The problem was, the spells were boring. Oh, being able to repair broken objects was useful, and the Unlocking Charm had possibilities, but the books had few spells applicable in combat and absolutely no so-called "dark magic," which was what she was most interested in. Still, she had gotten started on the Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense curricula. She would ignore the other subjects for now, in order to focus on those she deemed most useful.
Violet paused in front of a brick building. Through dirty windows, she could see row upon row of bookcases. A sign at the top of the building read, "Secrets Softly Whispered." Perhaps she would find some more useful books here.
As she slipped through the door, the rather handsome young wizard sitting behind a desk glared at her suspiciously. Presumably they didn't get very many children, but after taking in her expensive robes and confident movements, he dismissed her.
Violet walked along the bookcases, trailing her finger along dusty spines. Unfortunately, most of them were more obscure than useful. They may have had some value as collector's items, but none of them seemed to be written about dark magic. She approached the shopkeeper wizard.
"Pardon me," she said. The wizard looked up blearily. Craning her neck, Violet saw that he was reading a book named Passion in the Night. She made a soft sound of amusement.
"Yes? Are you going to buy something or just fondle the spines of every book in the shop?" he said, sounding disgruntled.
"I would buy if you had anything worth selling." Violet leaned forward and dropped her voice, even though there was no one in the building besides the two of them. It was important to meet expectations, after all. "I am looking for spellbooks of a very particular nature."
"We don't carry many spellbooks," the man said. "And if we did, they wouldn't be suitable for children."
Violet tutted. "You really shouldn't judge by appearances. They can be most deceiving."
The man snorted. "What, so you're an adult polyjuicing as a kid? Kinda fucked up."
"I didn't say that," Violet said. She flicked through his mind. Apparently polyjuice was a potion that allowed you to take the appearance of another. Potentially useful, that. "Suffice to say that my gold is as good as anyone's, and leave it at that."
"Fair enough," he said with a sigh. "We've got some more sensitive books in the back. I'm not supposed to let anyone back there who's not a known customer, but I can bring one out for you if you tell me what you want."
Violet thought for a moment while she searched for any signs of deception in the man's mind. Finding nothing but boredom at his job, she said, "Agreed. I seek no book by name, but an elaboration on often misunderstood magic, particularly in regards to combative magic."
He stared for a moment. "So what you're saying is you want to learn to curse shit."
She sighed. He clearly had no appreciation for subtle games of wordplay. "Yes, as you so eloquently put it. Can you provide such a book, or should I look elsewhere?"
"Yeah, I think we've got something. I'll pop around to the back. Try not to molest any books while I'm gone."
Violet rolled her eyes. He returned soon, clasping a book in a brown paper bag.
"Here. Curses of Hatred and Fyre. Will that do?"
"Acceptable," Violet said. She'd never heard of it, but it sounded good. "How much?"
"Three hundred."
That was extremely expensive, but if it really contained illegal information, it wasn't surprising. "Agreed. But I won't pay in traceable currency." In reality, she just didn't have that much, but she wouldn't admit that. She emptied the remainder of her velvet pouch onto the desk and his eyes widened at the sight of the gems and bars of gold. "Acceptable?"
"What? How do I know any of this is real?"
"I suppose you don't," said Violet. "But then again, I don't know if the book in that bag is Curses of Hatred and Fyre or a muggle cookbook, so I suppose we're in the same boat. Look at it this way: if you've cheated me, I'll be back to murder you, and you're welcome to attempt the same if you feel I've misled you."
He stared at her and whispered something that sounded like, "Psycho." But he accepted her deal, sweeping the coins and gold into a drawer. Violet took the book.
"Pleasure," she said. He ignored her.
Whistling, she left the bookshop, dubiously legal spellbook tucked under her arm. Damn, Knockturn was pretty awesome.
She stayed in the mortal world for several more days, until Tom's increasing discomfort with her independence convinced her not to push her luck any further. He had been casting concerned glances at her, and she feared he was contemplating contacting the authorities who apparently had some kind of problem with almost-eleven-year-olds living on their own. Violet couldn't imagine why. She was an ideal tenant, paying on time and not making any trouble.
Violet slipped back into mund—no, muggle—London and found an appropriately dim corner and began to concentrate. This would be tricky, but hopefully doable. She had only recently managed to teleport with Winter magic, and even then, only for a few meters. However, she knew that teleportation was vastly easier in the mortal world than the Wyld. Satria, for all her power, could not teleport more than a hundred meters in the Wyld but was nearly unrestricted in the mortal world.
She pictured her destination and called upon Winter. Snow whirled around her as the world turned white, and she grinned as she recognized her target. It was the same natural arch Satria had led her through all those years ago. Focusing on her connection to Winter, she walked through the arch and drew in a deep, satisfied breath of the crisp air of the Wyld. She set off in the direction of the court, carrying her books in a large suitcase. Satria would be most interested to hear of what transpired in the mortal world, and Violet was looking forward to demonstrating some mortal magic.
AN:
Well, Violet finally returned to the mortal world, at least for a little while. I'd like to thank you all for the amazing support you've been showing. I'm glad you're liking the fae aspect to the story. My plan is still to focus primarily on the Harry Potter side of things, but I think I'll work in some more Courtly content.
I plan to move quite quickly through the next few years, focusing on major events. After that, I'll slow to a more typical pace.