The White Wyvern was crowded and noisy, the dinner crowd overlapping with the first arriving serious drinkers. Violet scanned the pub, idly brushing off the snow still lingering on her robes from her last teleport. An ornate grandfather clock read ten minutes past seven. Barely late at all, then.

She soon noticed Jon sitting at a corner table, halfway through a thick slice of prime rib. She approached, pushing through the crowded tables and air thickened with a light haze of smoke. The pub smelled delicious, and she was pleased to see that Jon had ordered for her as well. She slid into the chair facing him, pulling her plate to her.

"Sorry for the delay. I was gathering some last minute supplies."

Jon nodded and swallowed. "'s fine." He gestured to her plate and smirked. "I made sure to order it rare after your stunt this morning. You have any luck?"

"In a sense," Violet said, making a noncommittal gesture. "I found nothing, but the conspicuous absence of anything noteworthy is, in itself, noteworthy."

"I see," he said, sounding very much like he did not, in fact, see. "Well, you'll be pleased to hear that you were right about the disappearances. I talked to some old buddies, and it turns out six witches and wizards have been reported missing in the past fortnight. The majority of them were not exactly pillars of society, so it's probable that the other eight simply haven't been reported."

Violet nodded slowly. "Most of them?"

"That's right," Jon said, gesturing with his fork. "Most of them. See, while five of them were clearly just down on their luck folk in the wrong place at the wrong time, one of them was different. Ambrose Shafiq. Rich, pureblood, and Ministry employed. Now that stuck out to me as a bit unusual. Like maybe he was targeted for reasons other than convenience." He bit into a roast potato and cursed when it was much hotter than he expected. "Don't laugh," he muttered. "Anyway, not only did ol' Shafiq stand out, he also seemed to be the first targeted. He definitely was the first reported."

"Interesting. I assume you investigated further."

"Yeah, 'course. The Ministry was clueless, of course, but that's likely because the case was handed off to the Unspeakables."

"Wait," interrupted Violet. There was no way this was a coincidence. "Why are the Unspeakables involved?"

"Shafiq was an Unspeakable. Pretty high up too, from what I understand, though I only met him a few times back in my Hit Wizard days. As for why they managed to get jurisdiction over the case…" He grimaced. "Well, it's the Unspeakables."

Violet nodded, thinking furiously. First two wizards are spotted working with the enemy fae, who are apparently capable of pioneering revolutionary new forms of magic. Then, an Unspeakable turns up dead and the case is hushed up by the department. Was the entire Unspeakable department somehow involved? There was no chance that the Ministry would authorize such a thing, but it would hardly be the first time the Unspeakables undertook a dubious experiment without Ministry approval.

On the other hand, why would a high ranking Unspeakable be killed if the whole department was involved? No, that was unlikely. Maybe—

"Uh, Valentina? Are you listening?" Jon's voice snapped her out of her speculation.

"It's Violet," she corrected, feeling slightly embarrassed at allowing herself to become so distracted. "Remember?"

"Oh… yes," he said awkwardly. "Well, as I was saying, clearly something more was going on here than a randomly targeted abduction. And seeing as this wouldn't be the first time the Unspeakables have dabbled in human sacrifice, it wasn't a stretch to imagine that some former members, perhaps drummed out for performing forbidden research, might have been looking for revenge on their old boss."

Violet nodded slowly. That made sense. Jon clearly had more than a little experience with this sort of thing.

"So," he continued, "I ended up poking around Shafiq's mansion—though it got half burned down in the abduction. Shafiq clearly didn't go quietly. Anyway, get this—his bloody house elf not only saw but recognized the attackers!"

Violet's eyes widened. "What? You knew who they were for this whole conversation?"

Jon laughed. "Oh? Are you really complaining about how I share information? Miss Secrecy herself?"

"Laugh it up. Who were they?"

Jon shrugged. "It's not like I recognized their names, but the elf said they were two brothers, ex-Unspeakables both, who used to work for Shafiq. So the grudge theory is looking pretty strong."

Violet felt a grin tugging at her face. Finally, after narrowly escaping ambush in her own home, she would soon have the chance for a little revenge. By Jon's expression, he was feeling similar. "Were you able to track them down?"

Jon smirked. "Of course. They're not trying to hide—even listed on the Floo Directory. I popped by for a quick look earlier. They're staying in a small house in Falmouth, with no protections to speak of. Makes sense, I suppose. When someone starts layering heavy duty wards on their house, people get suspicious."

"Great work," said Violet. "I don't suppose you'd feel disagreeable about paying them a visit tonight?"

"Not at all. But first, there's another matter, Violet." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Right." Violet tamped down her irritation. Really, she would have had to explain something at some point. It might as well be now.

"So, first of all, I'm not a runaway," she said with an irritated look. "Technically, I suppose you could say that I was kidnapped, but it was all arranged by my mother anyway." That was stretching the truth slightly. Lily Potter certainly hadn't intended for Violet to pay her debt, but she certainly wasn't complaining.

"Right," said Jon slowly. "And that explains why you live on your own… how?"

"Come now, Jon. What happened to your policy of no questions?"

He snorted. "My pub got leveled. That makes me an interested party. Stop dodging the question."

Violet huffed. "If you must know, my new… guardian, I suppose… isn't part of this world."

He gave her a funny look. "They some sort of muggle or something?"

"Maybe," Violet said, shrugging. "Not really important. Point is, she has enemies, and the bitch who flattened your pub is one of them."

"Riiiiight. Not a muggle, clearly."

Violet shot him a dirty look. "Stop interrupting. So, in short, the Unspeakables you discovered are working with this… enemy, I suppose you could call her. I don't know her name yet. They're trying to perform a powerful ritual, which obviously must be stopped. All you really need to know is that she'll be able to do magic without a wand and won't like getting stabbed with iron. Oh, and if you happen to see anything else that seems unusual, iron will be a safe bet."

Jon was silent for a moment, contemplating. "I can't help but notice," he said, "that you're still being rather evasive. Wandless magic and a vulnerability to iron? This woman isn't exactly human, is she?"

"No. But it's not something for you to worry about."

Jon sighed. "Fine. One last question, and we'll call it square. What's your last name?"

Violet laughed. "Tell you what: make it through this alive, and I'll tell you. Now, how would you feel about carrying some presumably stable Conflagration potions?"

"Presumably?"

~#~

"I still don't think you should be here for this."

Violet rolled her eyes. Must not hex. Must not hex. "We've been over this. Your misplaced oveprotectiveness is no doubt charming to the ladies, but I'm no Lady." She snickered at her own joke, ignoring Jon's confused look. "Frankly, if anyone shouldn't be here, it's you."

"What?" Now he just sounded offended. Violet snickered again. "Oh, forgive me for worrying that a twelve year old girl shouldn't be lying in ambush for two fully qualified Unspeakables. Imagine, be—"

"Ex-Unspeakables," Violet said, cutting off his sarcasm.

"Huh?"

"Ex. You said they were fully qualified, but clearly Mr. Shafiq disagreed."

Jon rolled his eyes. "I don't think the fact that they were expulsed for magical research too dark for even the Department of Mysteries makes the situation any better."

Violet sighed. "Just don't get in my way and follow my lead, all right?"

Jon said something highly uncomplimentary that she chose to ignore. They were crammed together under Violet's invisibility cloak, waiting outside the modest house of the ex-Unspeakables. Jon had been highly indignant, insisting that he was perfectly capable of casting a Disillusionment Charm, but she was well aware that the cloak protected from far more than sight. What, exactly, it was remained a mystery, but she was certain beyond all doubt that it was her most valuable possession, with the possible exception of her wand.

Said wand practically shivered in her hand, eager at the prospect of battle. In the time since she had bonded with her wand, it had never failed her, and it seemed to grow closer to her with each life it took. Ollivander had warned her that Thestral hairs often made for a disloyal wand; personally, Violet thought that most wizards simply failed to fulfill the aspect of death such a wand provided and demanded.

The dull pop-pop of distant Apparition shook Violet from her reverie. The brothers had returned. "The jinxes," she hissed. "Now."

While Jon quickly began casting jinxes against magical transportation, Violet reached for her Winter magic, laying a protection against Sidhe. While it wouldn't keep out the enemy fae for long, it would at least provide a warning. Violet thought any intervention from her was quite unlikely. It was doubtful that she paid the slightest attention to her mortal allies beyond what was required for their plans.

"Wards are up," said Jon. "Are you sure—"

Ignoring him, she held one of the glowing orange potions in front of her. Jon was carrying the other eleven and was not particularly pleased about it. Violet wasn't sure why he was complaining. If they went off, she was well within the blast radius as well.

She tapped her wand against the vial, murmuring, "Depulso." The vial arced toward the house, disappearing in a twinkling dot of glass. Then there was a muffled roar, as if a dragon was venting its fury, and a colossal bloom of flame tore through the upper story of the house, casting flaming shrapnel in all directions. Violet whistled. Potentially unstable or not, the potions clearly packed a punch.

"Come on!" she shouted, grabbing the cloak and stuffing it under her robe as she broke into a sprint, approaching the ablaze house as quickly as she could. "We need one alive. How long until the Ministry arrives?"

"Five minutes, maybe, with the jinxes," Jon replied, breathing easily as he kept pace with her shorter legs. "But those will only be the Patrol, and they won't stick their noses in this until the Hit Wizards show up, so we'll have some more time on top of that."

Violet nodded. It would be enough. She ran as quickly as she could, regretting that the anti-Apparition jinx also affected her teleportation. On the other hand, at least it would mean that the enemy fae would likely be similarly affected when they finally confronted her.

"Look out!" barked Jon, as a bright purple spell streaked from a window in the burning house, but Violet was already moving, leaping to the side and rolling. More curses followed it, forcing both of them to slow their approach to focus on shielding. The open terrain surrounding the house provided no cover. Violet cursed. She'd hoped that the initial blast would distract them for longer.

"Protego! Give 'em another, Jon!"

Stepping behind her shield, Jon drew a pair of vials from his coat. A flick of his wand sent them sailing towards the house.

Clearly, the ex-Unspeakables recognized the vials, because a red flash caused both to detonate in midair. Violet shielded her face against the sudden burst of heat, but the cloud of smoke and flame provided suitable concealment for their advance.

Jon swore as a bright blue spell cast blindly through the smoke splashed next to him, spraying him with hot white sparks. "Confringo! Confringo!" he roared. Violet could hear distant detonations as his Blasting Curses detonated against the flaming house.

Ventus! Violet cast, clearing a path through the smoke. They were perhaps fifty meters from the house now, which was blazing brightly now. Her blood was well and truly up now, her wand pulsing in her hand. Four minutes, she thought. That was plenty.

She saw a dark figure leaping from a side window, only to slow before hitting the ground. A moment later, another followed.

"They're making a run for it," she said, still flinging curses in their general direction. "I'll see if I can slow them down a bit."

She twisted her free hand, and the already cold temperature dropped further. Wind picked up, and snow began to blow, more intense around the fleeing forms of the ex-Unspeakables. She could see them casting spells against the cold, but they were under too much pressure to attempt to dispel the blizzard. One of them was limping, perhaps injured by the initial Conflagration potion, and Violet grinned. They wouldn't be able to escape by running.

Apparently, they came to the same conclusion because as one, they stopped running and turned about, launching a furious volley of curses. Violet recognized a particularly nasty skin flaying curse from one of the illegal dueling matches she had were barely thirty meters away now, well within easy casting range. Truthfully, they weren't exceptionally good, though they knew an impressive array of uncommon curses. Academics, not fighters, she thought.

"Rarefacia Caeli!" she heard one of them cast, and her breath hitched as the air was evacuated from around Jon and her. She staggered from the sudden drop in pressure, thinking furiously. She didn't recognize the spell, didn't know the countercurse. She'd teleport, but the jinxes were up. She could break them, probably, but the brothers would escape. In the end, the solution was simple.

Ventus! Violet cast again, the conjured air filling the artificial vacuum. Jon drew a shaky breath, and Violet had to deflect an Organ Expelling Curse that would have hit him otherwise. "Avada Kedavra!" she snapped.

One of the brothers shouted in surprise, throwing himself to the earth to avoid the Unforgivable curse. Jon swore viciously, though whether it was at her choice of spell or the aftereffects of the vacuum curse, she didn't know. He was still doubled over, struggling for breath.

Contundito! "Bombarda! Reducto! Crucio!" Forced to shield against her Reductor, the ex-Unspeakable's shield was shattered by the Cruciatus, and Violet felt its familiar euphoria draw a half-mad laugh from her lungs.

"Anton!" exclaimed the other, staring in horror as his brother writhed under the curse. His eyes locked with hers, and she suddenly felt the stabbing pain of a Legilimency attack. She didn't look away, choosing to counterattack with a mental thrust of her own, all the while holding his brother under the Cruciatus.

She felt his attack break through her Occlumency shields—he was very, very good at this—but there was more to the Mind Arts than skill alone, and she allowed her mind to become fully overtaken by the fierce pleasure of the Cruciatus Curse, forcing the invader in her mind to experience the same enjoyment of his brother's suffering. She could hear his shrieks, distantly, tortured and ragged.

The ex-Unspeakable withdrew immediately, a disgusted look on his face. "Avada Kedavra!" he spat, his face a rictus of hatred.

Violet flicked her free hand, conjuring a column of ice from thin air to absorb the Killing Curse, but the moment of distraction finally broke her link with the man she had struck with the Cruciatus. The tortured man twitched, moaning, and made no effort to stand.

Jon seemed to have recovered now and joined her in volleying curses at their remaining enemy. The wild-eyed ex-Unspeakable was fighting with a previously absent ferocity. Clearly, he did not have the constitution for serious dark magic under normal circumstances, but the torture of his brother had granted him the hatred he needed for at least the Unforgivables. While Jon occupied him, Violet sprinted forward impossibly quickly, drawing her sword in her left hand as she did.

He noticed her approach late, just as she lunged for him. He conjured a shield, and her sword rattled against it. But her wand was already coming up, incantation forming on her lips—"Avada Kedavra!"

The deathly curse passed through his shield as if it weren't there, and rushing winds heralded his death. Violet spun about and saw that the surviving brother was crawling toward his wand, still wracked with convulsions.

"None of that," Violet said mildly. "Crucio!"

Once again, the man screamed in agony. Violet felt herself flushing at the euphoria of the curse.

"Violet!" came Jon's voice. "What the fuck?"

Violet sighed and broke the curse. The man crumpled, eyes flicking wildly as blood trickled from his mouth. He'd bitten his tongue. "Didn't take you for the squeamish sort," she said coldly.

"It's not—fuck." Jon looked conflicted for a moment. "Look. The Ministry will be here soon. We have to go."

"Right. Drop the jinxes. We'll meet at your safehouse. Imperio!" The Imperius curse took hold without resistance, which was a surprise. Judging by his brothers experience with the Mind Arts, she would have expected him to throw off the curse. On the other hand, exposure to the Cruciatus was not known to benefit ones concentration.

Jon dropped the jinxes, and just as she heard the popping of Ministry Apparition, she teleported the now much more responsive ex-Unspeakable to the safehouse. A moment later, Jon appeared by her side with a crack.

"All you hurt?" she asked.

Jon coughed violently. "That air removing spell took a bit out of me. And I got some burns from sparks, but I'm fine." A moment later, he added, "At least the bloody potions didn't blow me up."

Violet sniffed "They worked perfectly. And they'll be even more useful for what comes next. Are we likely to be tracked?"

"No. You can't trace Apparition unless you already have a monitoring field… never mind. The Ministry won't find us here."

"Excellent. You," she said, pointing to the Imperiused man, "Are you going to drop dead on us?"

"No," he replied unevenly. He was still twitching, but the Imperius allowed him to ignore the pain of the Cruciatus aftereffects, not that it stopped him from feeling them, of course.

"Good," she said. "Right, Jon, I'll be taking our friend for a quick chat in the woods. Back soon."

"Wait a minute," he said sharply. "We need to talk about what happened back there."

"Talk about what?" Violet asked. "In my opinion, it went off without a hitch."

He laughed bitterly. "If you don't count a twelve year old murdering a man with the Killing Curse a hitch."

She shrugged. "I wasn't under the impression that I was paying you for your conscience."

Jon flinched, then sighed heavily. "Okay," he said, then sighed again. "They were sacrificing humans, after all. Just… don't do anything you'll regret." Without looking at her, he stomped off into the safe house.

That was unfortunate. Hopefully Jon would get over his reservations. She didn't think he was bothered by her actions, per se—Heavens knew that he dabbled in enough shady business himself—but he probably wasn't prepared to see them from a young girl. She wasn't so oblivious to believe that her actions and state of mind were truly normal, at least among humans. The fae of Winter wouldn't even blink.

Follow me, she ordered the man, leading him a decent distance from the house.

Don't resist. "Legilimens!"

She tore through his mind. It was somewhat disjointed, much less organized than she would have expected from an Unspeakable, but that could likely be attributed to the Cruciatus. She'd heard that prolonged exposure to it could cause permanent insanity, but she hadn't experimented with it herself.

She saw him arguing with his old boss—Shafiq. He and his brother were fascinated by fae, by the concept of a world adjacent to their own. They wanted to research it, contact the fae, but were refused at every turn.

She saw as their prohibited experiments were discovered, saw as they were fired from the Department, saved from legal consequences only to protect the reputation of the other Unspeakables. She felt the man's impotent anger as years of work went up in flames around him.

Violet watched as they performed the ritual to summon a fae, felt his anticipation and fear. She saw the fae—the same one who hunted her now—and learned that her name was Aryssa.

She felt the man's revulsion as they sacrificed a human for the first time but also his resolve to see their project through to the end. They intended to collaborate with Aryssa to form a permanent bridge between Earth and the Wyld. He knew nothing of the Winter conspiracy Aryssa participated in, for he was painfully ignorant in the dealings of the fae. Aryssa would have betrayed him, Violet knew, once he had nothing more to provide.

She felt his frustration as years passed, their preparations complete but for a single remaining component—a sacrifice symbolizing the union of mortals and fae. She felt his exhilaration when Aryssa told him that she had found a suitable sacrifice and his muted horror when he learned that it was a child. Violet, who Aryssa believed to be the indescribably rare product of a union between a fae and a mortal—Satria's daughter—thought that she would make the perfect sacrifice. Ironically, she was likely right, even though she was wrong about Violet's heritage. In a way, she might be an even better sacrifice, a mortal touched by Winter. The fact that their plot could have worked was disturbing. It was difficult to imagine just how much power the Winter conspirators could have acquired if it had.

She felt his pleasure as he and his brother murdered the man who had ended his career. Shafiq had died badly, victim of a half-dozen experimental curses. He had not been the man's first kill, but his was the only one he had enjoyed. She saw him working with his brother and Aryssa to draw a massive ritual circle, saw them performing lesser versions of the bridging ritual each night to tether Aryssa to the mortal world.

His name was Leston.

Finally, she withdrew from his mind. He slumped backwards, even under the Imperius, blood leaking from his nose and ears. Useless.

"Avada Kedavra!"

~#~

"It's done," Violet said.

"Yeah?" said Jon in an indecipherable tone. Violet wanted to sigh. Clearly, he was still in a mood.

"I know where she is. Aryssa's her name, it turns out, not that it really matters. She'll be at the ritual circle waiting for tonight's sacrifice. Turns out they're using the same ritual circle for the nightly rituals as for the big one." Violet grabbed a glass from one of the kitchen cupboards, making a face at the grime crusted around the rim. Still, she filled it with a flash of blue Winter magic, and quickly drank the cool water. "We can end this tonight," she said.

"Just like that?" Jon scoffed. "Seems so simple when you put it that way."

Violet gave him a look, not sure what he was implying. "Well, there's always the chance that we won't win. But that's no attitude to have going into a fight."

"Not what I meant." He sighed. "I suppose you murdered your captive?"

"He's dealt with," she said, ignoring his flinch. "Look, I'm going now. Come or not, your choice."

"I'm coming," he said wearily. "You'll not-Apparate us both?"

"Yes. There is a small gap in their anti-transportation wards that they use to travel to and fro the ritual site. It is likely that Aryssa will be watching the hole, so be prepared to come under immediate attack once she realizes we aren't the Unspeakables.

"Sounds great," said Jon without a hint of sarcasm. "This is the wandless magic bitch, right?"

"That's her," said Violet. "The Conflagration potions should prove effective. There is, I suppose, a possibility that she will attempt to flee. Fa—people like her have a healthy respect for wizards, but I do not think it is likely."

"Why's that?"

"She was sent here, at no small cost to her larger… organization… with two tasks: kill me, and perform the ritual. If she flees, she will have failed both, the consequences of which would be severe." Violet stepped toward Jon, resting a hand on his arm. The other grasped her wand. "Ready?" she asked lightly.

"Not at all. Let's do it."

Violet grinned sharply, and the world faded to gray. A moment later, the two of them stood in a clearing surrounded by towering trees, perhaps fifty meters in diameter. She could remember Leston's memories of clearing the patch of forest, months ago.

Night had well and truly fallen, and the vast ritual circle—covering the entire clearing—was lit by standing torches that burned with blue fire. They had appeared a little off to the side, the teleportation area strategically placed away from any highly intricate sections of the circle.

Violet spun about, just in time to see a crackling dark blue crescent streaking toward them. Instinctively, she raised the strongest shield she could, and Winter magic collided against itself with a terrible crash, flash-freezing the ground around them. She heard Jon hiss at the sudden snap of cold, raising his wand to retaliate, but she squeezed his arm. She got the impression that this initial attack was intended more as a test than as a prelude to the final confrontation. Reluctantly, he held his curse, but kept his wand high.

Aryssa, an alchemical silver sword grasped in hand, circled them perhaps twenty meters away. She paid no heed to the intricate network of silver threads that made up the ritual circle, yet each elegant footfall landed effortlessly between them. She could have been Satria's sister, Violet thought, with long white hair and the sharp features prevalent among Winter fae. Surprisingly, she was accompanied by no lesser Sidhe, choosing instead to stand alone against the two of them. Hopefully, that was a sign of overconfidence, but Violet doubted that they were so lucky.

"So, Satria's whelp shows herself at last," Aryssa said, voice crisp and cold. Her English was tinged with the characteristic lilting accent of the fae.

Violet grinned. "Sorry about the delay. I was a bit occupied dealing with your assistants. I do hope that you weren't relying on them for any portion of the ritual because I'm afraid they won't be available in the future."

It was almost imperceptible, but Violet caught a flash of anger in the fae's eyes. "It matters not," she said, speaking now in the tongue of the fae. "You were always the greater prize. However, I must admit some curiosity. You wield the power of Winter, yet I have been assured that you have not abandoned your mortal father. How has this come to pass?"

Violet laughed. Aryssa still believed that she was Satria's hybrid daughter, doomed to face a bitter choice between her heritages, one at the expense of the other. Violet knew that she was something more. "I have no wish to explain the finer workings of Winter magic to an uneducated lackey," she mocked. "I had assumed that your conspiracy would send at least a Lady. Instead, before me stands a mere puppet, dancing to the tune of her masters."

Aryssa took a step forward, and Violet felt frost forming on her eyelashes. "Your ignorance speaks for itself. Your precious Satria may be content to atrophy upon her throne, ruler of her tiny fief, but those of us with true power rarely—"

She was forced to duck, dodging a bright purple curse from Jon. He shrugged. "What? If you're going to banter, do it in a language I speak."

Violet laughed, stepping away from him and drawing her sword. She could feel the weight of the anti-transportation wards press down on her as she left the excluded circle. "It's all right. Aryssa can't take a joke anyway. Avada Kedavra!"

The Killing Curse was blocked by a conjured crystal of ice, which shattered, spreading shards across the ritual circle. Aryssa's delicate features transformed into an expression of disgust. "I have been informed of that curse. It is tragedy itself that such magic is reserved for mortal hands." She strode toward them, flourishing her sword, and streaks of purple and black light flashed across the clearing towards Jon.

Violet gave him a concerned look. He clearly had no idea how to properly counter Winter magic, instead relying on the sheer strength of his shields to absorb the corrosive magic. But Violet could see the subtle nature of Winter creeping along the edges of his shields, weakening them without him even noticing.

But her worry was unnecessary, for he took that moment to fling a Conflagration potion toward Aryssa.

Violet's eyes widened—at this range, they were well within the blast radius—and incanted, "Protego!"

The potion exploded, wrecking the delicate ritual circle, and casting sticky orange flames all around them. Violet staggered backward, shield flaring brightly. Jon had erected some sort of black shield that had totally protected him from the blast.

Through the smoke and lingering flames, Aryssa strode. She did not appear to be so much as singed, but Violet could see holes torn in her gossamer dress, and small trails of blood were visible. Clearly, she hadn't been prepared for the iron fragments in the potion. Her expression was utterly still, but Violet could sense the implicit fury in her movements.

Aryssa jerked the arm not holding her sword, and a bright flash surrounded Jon, and his black shield melted. He hissed as drops of magic burned him but managed to block the following spear of ice she hurled toward him.

Bombarda! Violet cast, stepping forward to take Aryssa's attention. She was getting uncomfortably close now, and Violet knew that she would have to be the one to occupy the attention of her sword. It wasn't a prospect Violet relished—aside from the fae's undoubted mastery of the weapon, not even Violet's unnatural strength would fully compensate for Aryssa's adult stature, to say nothing of her reach advantage.

The fae contemptuously destroyed the hex with her sword, alchemical silver cleaving through the magic. Close now, she brought down a crushing blow with her sword that Violet barely blocked, while simultaneously hurling a coil of sickly magic at Jon. He dove to the ground to avoid it, his half-completed curse spitting sparks onto the still burning ground.

Aryssa launched a dizzying series of attacks, and Violet found herself grateful for every tedious sword drill Armen had forced her to complete. Even so, she could barely keep up, but she knew she had an advantage. Two, really—mortal magic, unblockable and deadly, was far more dangerous than Winter magic at such close range—but most importantly, her sword was iron, and the smallest cut would be a serious wound to the Winter fae.

So Violet didn't panic, even as Aryssa's blade slipped through her guard and opened a shallow cut along her ribs. Instead, she allowed a cold smile to cross her face. "Crucio!"

Clearly, the fae recognized that curse as well, for she jerked wildly to the side at the first sign of Violet's incantation, even her uncanny grace barely preventing her from falling.

Incendio!

A cone of flame washed over Aryssa, but Violet knew it wouldn't be enough to harm her. The fire splashed against a pale blue shield, but Violet took advantage of the distraction to thrust with her sword. Cold iron pierced Winter magic, and Violet felt the satisfying resistance of flesh against the tip of her blade.

Then there was a scream, high and terrible, and a great pulse of magic hurled Violet backward, wrenching the sword from her hands. Her head pounded, and her vision was blurry, but she knew she had to act now, and she called upon Winter magic to encase herself in ice. A crushing force struck it, and she could feel corrosive magic seeping through the ice, biting at her skin.

Cursing, she rose to her feet, forcibly purging the hostile magic from her body. Aryssa was bleeding badly from her shoulder, courtesy of Violet's sword, and the iron must have been weakening her, but it didn't stop her from closing the distance to Jon in the blink of an eye. He tried to avoid her, but she deftly predicted his movements, slashing her sword across stomach and slamming the hilt into his head.

Violet watched as his eyes went glassy as he wobbled on his feet, a red stain beginning to spread over his shirt. Violet's vision still hadn't fully cleared, but neither could she wait. "Viscera Expulso!" she snapped. Aryssa managed to raise a shield, but the dark curse partially penetrated it, and she screamed as a red line of blood stretching across her stomach soaked her dress, rapidly expanding over the pale fabric.

The fae's eyes were wide, the first signs of fear visible. She knew that she faced true death, today, and that terror lent her strength. Ignoring Jon, she turned, and a torrent of Winter magic assaulted Violet, bitter cold and roaring winds flinging shards of ice.

"Protego!" she barely managed. The shield shattered, and she felt shards of ice pierce her. The winds forced her to her knees, intensifying around her, and she realized that she couldn't overcome the Winter magic with her own. Aryssa's control was vastly superior, and Violet found each inhalation more difficult as the winds stole the breath from her lungs.

Acc—Accio Jon's belt, she manged to cast. At first, she thought it hadn't worked, but she saw the glimmer of orange potions as the belt sailed toward her. Her vision was going dark, and she felt something heavy strike her left arm, felt a stabbing pain as the bone broke.

Depulso!

Then there was nothing but fire. Heat ripped away the blizzard surrounding her, and a giant's hand tossed her ten meters away. Flames licked at her flesh, but ice crept along her skin, warding off the worst of it. She landed heavily face down.

Have to get up, she thought, but her body didn't seem willing to respond. Everything hurt, but that was all right. She was used to pain after all, but if she couldn't get up—come on, get up, get up—it wouldn't matter.

Finally, with a herculean effort, she managed to roll over, staring up at the stars. She tilted her head, wincing as something twinged in her neck and saw the scene of destruction.

The eight remaining Conflagration potions had detonated as one, with Aryssa on her knees in the epicenter. She had clearly shielded herself because she wasn't burning, but the iron shards had ripped through her, and her dress was almost fully stained red now. One of her eyes had been destroyed by shrapnel, but the other stared at Violet, cold and hateful.

She wasn't moving, wasn't casting magic, and Violet could only assume that iron's taint had built up to the point that she couldn't. Despite the pain, Violet grinned, happy to see her enemy laid low. Turning her head farther, she could see the still, smoldering form of Jon. He'd been farther from the blast than either Violet or Aryssa but was still looking rather the worse for wear. He was stirring though, so Violet wasn't too worried.

Come on, then. Time to get up.

She forced Winter magic through herself, suffusing her body with a cool, tingly sensation. She winced as the pain of her injuries seemed to redouble, but then it receded slightly, and she was able to rise unsteadily to her feet. She could feel her body slowly starting to repair itself, flesh knitting and burns eased by a slowly spreading coolness. It would take a significant while, but that didn't matter. Her wand was still in her hand, cool and unblemished despite the Conflagration potions.

She took an unsteady step, then another. Aryssa watched her approach steadily, good eye fixed on her. Maybe she expected Violet to taunt her, torture her, but right now, all Violet wanted was to crawl into a soft bed for about two days straight.

She raised her wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

She retrieved her sword from where it had fallen on the frost-coated earth, clumsily sheathing it one hand. Turning to limp over to Jon, she allowed a smile, showing bloody teeth. Satria would be pleased.

Jon had rolled over, groaning. His eyes were screwed shut. "Fuck me," he muttered. "Did you really have to do that?"

Violet shrugged. "Worked, didn't it?"

Jon let out a sound that might charitably be described as a laugh and dragged himself to his feet. "Merlin, you look a mess," he said.

"Thanks," Violet said sarcastically. "You're looking great, yourself. The singed hair look really works for you."

He chuckled appreciatively, and ran his wand over himself, fixing his tattered robes. His eyes glanced over Aryssa's corpse. "It seems you're looking better than some people, at least."

"True." Violet tentatively prodded her broken arm and winced at the stab of pain. "Well, that's that, I suppose. Thanks for the help and all. I'll be off for a few weeks, likely. With my, uh, 'guardian.' I'll bring your gold when I come back. Oh, and make sure you fix my flat."

He snorted. "Just like that?"

Violet scoffed. "I'm sure you'll survive a few weeks without my delightful company. See you."

She was just about to teleport away when Jon perked up, an amused expression on his face. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Violet frowned. "What's that?"

"I seem to remember you promising to tell me something should we survive this?"

Violet giggled, then burst into laughter. She'd forgotten about that promise, but Jon's reaction was going to be hysterical. "Oh, yeah. My last name? It's Potter."

As Jon's eyes widened, she shot him one last grin and, with a snap of her fingers, Disapparated.

~#~

In a cold, dark chamber, buried deep below the light and life of Hogwarts, there was laughter. A boy, a man, a monster, he reveled in his return to physical form after—too long. And yet he knew it could not last. As a mere fragment of a whole, essence divided, he knew he did not truly live. He must, above all else, seek out himself and become whole once more.

As Tom Marvolo Riddle ascended the stairs leading from the Chamber of Secrets, he paid the still form of the foolish girl a final look. There was something of her in him now, and he would forever treasure it. Tom Riddle had always taken trophies, after all.

As he crept through the castle, he watched the throngs of evacuating students. That wouldn't do. He remembered that Hogwarts had been a home for him once, the only one he had ever known. He raised Ginny's wand—his wand—and cast Flagrate.

The Chamber has Closed Once More.

And then, on a whim fueled by hatred so strong it made his wand shake, another line, great flaming letters on the stone wall, the very same one that had warned of the Chamber's opening:

HOW MANY WILL YOU FAIL, ALBUS DUMBLEDORE?

Tom nodded. It would be enough. The Ministry would search and find nothing and would eventually have no choice but to declare the school reopened.

Tom fled into the night. He had a soul to find.