The dark robed man with scruffy brownish-red hair stepped backward, twirling his wand, and an oncoming wave of red light fizzled to nothing. His opponent, a tall and limber man, stumbled in his spellcasting, not expecting his powerful attack to be so easily countered.

The scruffy man—Martin Erst, for had never partook in the pseudonyms common to underground duellists—capitalized on his advantage. With perfect form and not the slightest vocalization, a volley of curses first broke the shield of the other man, then trussed him up in chains.

The crowd broke into applause, Violet joining them. It was not the first time she had watched Erst fight. He was one of the most prolific duelists in Ivan's ring, skilled and savvy enough to avoid permanent injury even after dozens of duels. It was not that he always won, far from it. In fact, he lost nearly as often as he won, for his tremendous skill and inventiveness was betrayed by his intrinsic lack of power and a limited knowledge of the more esoteric magics. More than once, Violet had winced as a sequence of spells that could only be described as genius faltered against an opponent's indomitable shield.

But it was that very attribute that made him so interesting to Violet. Through cunning and deception, she had seen him stand and prevail against earth shaking power. It was for this that she had chosen him.

She had learned a great deal of wizardly combat from watching these duels, but there was only so much to be learned from a seat in the audience. No, to truly master combat with a wand, she would need a partner. Her battle with the knowledgeable but unpracticed ex-Unspeakables had proven that theory could only go so far, after all.

She slipped into the street, obscured under her cloak, and waited for Erst to show himself. Finally, he did, walking along and shrugging off the congratulations of the excited crowd. He had never been one to revel in victory, never took visible pleasure in the subjugation of an opponent. It was something Violet couldn't understand, personally. Why would you fight if you didn't love it?

She stalked him, silent as a wraith, as he peeled away from the crowd and set off through the dark streets of Knockturn Alley. Finally, once they were far enough from any witnesses, she shrugged off her cloak, stepping out of the shadows.

"I was very impressed, tonight. Blackguard is a feared opponent for a reason."

He whirled around, wand in his hand, but Violet didn't react. He wouldn't curse her, she knew. He was much too disciplined for that.

Wary brown eyes shrouded by heavy red brows stared at her, assessing. "I didn't see you in the audience," he said, finally.

Violet shrugged. "Then take it as a compliment that I reveal myself to you now."

He gave her a long look. "Blackguard is strong but also lazy. And he's not strong enough to get away with that."

"Quite." Violet met his eyes, and gently brushed against his mind. When she encountered no signs of Occlumency, she allowed a more steady connection to develop.

A fan? I don't have many of those. She looks young, but perhaps she simply has youthful features. She has scars on her face. How did she get those? Is she dangerous? Have I made an enemy somehow?

"Stop worrying," Violet said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not your enemy."

His heavy features darkened into a frown. "How did you know I was worried?"

Violet rolled her eyes. "Well, I approached you out of nowhere on a dark night. Most people would be worried in such circumstances."

He showed no reaction, but she picked up slight amusement in his mind. "What do you want?" he asked.

Rather than answer his question, she simply said, "You have a fascinating style of combat. You do not fight through instinct, but neither do you rigidly follow form and theory. And I have seen followers of both those schools fall to your wand."

What the devil? How closely has she been watching me?

"So?" he said. "What's it to you?"

"Simply put," she said, "I would like to hire your services as an instructor."

He snorted. "No."

Violet quirked her head. "Oh? And why is that? I assure you, I will offer ample compensation."

"Don't care about gold. Not interested."

Not the first spoiled pureblood bint tothink she has what it takes to be a fighter.

Violet's lips twitched in amusement. "I think we may have got off on the wrong foot. Allow me to clarify: I'm don't want you to teach me to fight."

"Yeah?" he said, unsure. "What do you want, then?"

"I want you to teach me to fight with a wand."

"Same thing, innit?"

"Not in the slightest." Violet smiled, too widely, and was pleased to see him shiver slightly.

"Doesn't matter. I don't teach."

"Oh, I think you will," said Violet. "Do you know why?"

"Why's that, then?" he asked reluctantly.

"Because everyone has a price," she said, still smiling. It was true, of course, and she had a good idea what his might be.

Creepy bitch.

"Yeah, well, maybe mine's not in gold."

Violet shrugged. "I can work with that. If I'm too young for you, I can find you someone more… voluptuous."

"That's not—fuck." She sensed a flash of disgust in his eyes and smirked. He'd be off balance, now.

"If not that, what about an equivalent exchange? You teach me; I teach you."

"I know everything I need to." He started to turn in place, preparing to Disapparate, but she cut him off.

"So sure about that, are you? But I can see the truth." She stepped closer, and he couldn't seem to look away from her eyes. "Curse me."

"What?" Is she mad?

"You heard me," Violet said. "Try it."

She asked for it.

His wand flicked, his motions precise. In his mind, Violet heard him incant, Impedime—

With a thrust of Legilimency, Violet disrupted his thoughts, dispelling his magic before it could form. His arm jerked as unformed magic spilled from his wand, and he looked at her with something approaching fear.

"What did you do?" he growled. "What did you do?"

"Try again," she said calmly.

Lac—

Again, she blocked the spell before it could be cast. She twirled her wand in her hand. "Still so sure that you have nothing to learn?"

He stared at her, horror slowly growing in his mind. It must have been an utterly disorienting feeling, to feel your very thoughts forcibly interrupted by an external force. "How?"

"It's called Legilimency," Violet said. "Mind reading, for the ill-informed. I knew what you were going to cast before even you did." She shrugged. "I also know that you dropped out of Hogwarts in your fifth year to take care of your ailing mother, who died less than six months later. I know that you considered joining the Dark Lord, but he fell before you worked up the courage. I know that you're wanted by the Ministry for a number of—"

"Enough!" He cut her off, wand pointed at her, shaking. "You can do this—read minds?"

"Yes," she whispered. "And I'll teach you. Teach you to guard your mind and invade those of others. Can you imagine a duel where you know everything your enemy is thinking, can predict his every move?"

Erst finally broke his gaze away from hers, staring at the rough cobble street. "Fuck me. You know how to give someone the hard sell."

Violet knew that she had him, even without looking in his eyes. "Shall we start tomorrow, then?"

He stood, silent, for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "We'll meet three times a week. Two hours of dueling instruction, then two hours of—whatever that was."

Violet shook her head. "No. For one, my time is worth more than yours. For two, you couldn't take six hours of instruction in the Mind Arts in a week. Three hours of dueling for one hour of the Mind Arts. Trust me, you'll be better off in the long run."

He looked like he wanted to complain for a moment, but thought better of it. "Fine. Fine. I'll send you an owl with a suitable location. What's your name?"

Violet smiled warmly. "Address your owl to a Valentina Frost. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Erst." Without another word, she curled her fingers and disappeared in a flash of white and a rush of cold wind.

~#~

"Morning, Jon," Violet said, taking a seat at the Old Oak's bar. "You have anything to eat this morning?"

"I'm sure I can find something leftover from last night," he said. "Were you at the event last night?"

"Of course. Even made a new friend."

He gave her an odd look but didn't pry. Violet liked that about Jon. She frowned. There was definitely something up with him today. He was acting almost cagey.

"Something the matter?" she asked.

"You could say that," he said. "Have you read the paper?"

"Do I look like the kind of person to waste my time on the Prophet?" Violet said with a laugh.

"Guess not," said Jon. "But you'll be interested in this." He dropped a heavy newspaper on the bar in front of her. She pulled it closer, scanning the front page headline.

SIRIUS BLACK, NOTORIOUS DARK WIZARD, ESCAPES AZKABAN

She quickly skimmed the contents of the article before dismissing them as pointless fearmongering and unsubstantiated speculation. Apparently this Black was some sort of follower of Voldemort. It was quite impressive that he'd managed to escape from Azkaban, but she wasn't sure why Jon thought it was relevant to her.

Violet looked up, seeing a grim expression on Jon's face. "What?" she asked.

"You don't know?" he said, looking honestly shocked. "Damn. I'm really not the person who should be telling you this."

Violet pushed the paper away. "Well, you brought it up, so you have to tell me now. Out with it. What's this Black got to do with me?"

Jon grimaced. "He's bad news, for a start. Nasty sort—killed a dozen muggles and some bloke named Pettigrew. That's what they sent him to Azkaban for, though some think he was working with the You-Know-Who even before that. But everyone knows that." He looked visibly uncomfortable now. "What everyone doesn't know is that he apparently was a close friend of, well, your father."

Violet stilled, feeling very cold. "Explain."

Jon sighed. "I didn't know him, or your father for that matter. But that was the word around the Hit Wizard office when he was arrested. And it gets worse. You—your family was living under a Fidelius charm when You-Know-Who caught up to them. And Black was the secret keeper."

"I see," Violet said softly. "Thank you for telling me this, Jon. I don't think I'll be having breakfast after all." She rose, calling upon Winter magic.

"Violet," Jon said. She glanced at him, and he sighed. "Be careful, yeah? Anyone who can break out of Azkaban shouldn't be taken lightly."

Violet nodded tightly, feeling a fury like never before. She'd never known her parents, truthfully didn't even care about them that much, but this was a matter of principle. It was not the nature of Winter to forgive or forget, and Sirius Black's would die for his treachery.

She teleported away.

~#~

She was still seething when she met Martin Erst later that day, though she was certain that she showed no sign of it externally. The man had picked a suitable spot, a wide, desolate field somewhere in the moors.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"Quite," Violet replied. "Shall we begin?"

"Don't see any reason why not. I've never taught anyone before, but I thought we could start with a duel to see where we stand?"

A cruel grin crept across her face. A duel sounded like a very, very good idea right now. "What terms?" she asked.

"Nothing lethal or that can cause serious or permanent injury. Other than that, anything goes, but anything you cast I'll be sending right back."

Violet nodded. She could live with that. Her wand blurred as it slipped into her hand. Depulso!

The duel lasted for several minutes. Erst was every bit as good as she had predicted, and she avoided using Legilimency or Winter magic, further increasing the difficulty of the duel. Even so, she had carefully studied his fighting style before meeting him and that, combined with her power and uncanny speed, granted her the advantage.

It ended suddenly. Her Bludgeoning Hex overpowered his shield, and a simple Disarming Charm shattered it, wrenching his wand from his hand. He stared at her in disbelief. "What the hell's the point of me teaching you if you can already beat me?"

Violet shook her head. "It doesn't matter if I can beat you or not. You're still a damn good challenge and it gives me a chance to practice. I beat you because I have power on my side and because I have a lot of experience fighting in general, even if it's not with a wand. I want to be powerful and precise, not just one."

He shrugged, rubbing his ribs where her Bludgeoning Hex had clipped him. "Fair enough. So long as you teach me to keep people out of my mind after."

She nodded, tossing his wand back to him. He raised it, and soon spells flashed between them once more.

~#~

To Violet's great annoyance, the Wizarding world was overtaken by a panicked furor over Sirius Black's escape. In addition to the general inconvenience of the unreasonable caution people were exhibiting, the Ministry seemed convinced that Black would sooner or later make an appearance in Knockturn Alley. Contrary to their typical policy of benign neglect, the cobble streets were now frequently patrolled by Ministry Law Enforcement personnel and, worse, Dementors.

The accursed creatures were easily the most foul entities she had encountered on Earth or even the Wyld. Her Occlumency protected her from the worst of their effects, but their presence was highly unwelcome. The most unsettling part was that she couldn't even kill them. Even the Killing Curse—and she'd tried it—only dispersed them temporarily, reducing them to a black mist. It was still the best solution she'd come across so far, as she had abandoned her attempt to learn the Patronus Charm after a frustrating lack of progress.

Worst of all, the Ministry's impotent attempts to find Black only reminded her of her own failure to track him down. Over the past few days, she had traveled Britain, interrogating a number of pixies and other magical creatures affiliated with Winter, to no success. For all she knew, Black wasn't even in Britain anymore. She certainly wouldn't stick around if she had escaped after over a decade's imprisonment. Still, there had been a number of reported sightings of the convict, enough to convince her that some might even be legitimate. Either way, it was becoming increasingly clear that if she wanted her vengeance, she would have to come up with some means to track him.

And that was why she was currently picking through the steaming entrails of a bull. A human would be better, but sacrificing innocents was a step too far, even for her. Aside from any personal compunctions she may have had, such sacrifices had direct, heavy costs that she was not willing to pay. Still, this would be enough. She wasn't even looking into the future, really, and matters of past and present were always easier to divine.

Divination was a curious field. It was perhaps the only area of magic practiced by both mortals and the fae, as many forms of it involved no magic whatsoever on the part of the diviner. Theoretically, even a muggle could perform certain forms of divination, though Violet wasn't sure if they would be able to properly interpret the results. It was also known as a very unreliable field, but that could be largely attributed to the fact that conventionally acceptable forms of divination omitted the all but essential sacrifice. Of course glass baubles and dregs of tea were ineffective, but drawn entrails, knuckle dice, and sacrificial pyres were well-proven and effective methods, used both by the fae and those wizards unafraid of dark magic. It was one of the first forms of magic Satria had taught her.

Admittedly, this particular method was rather… messy.

She held the bull's heart in her hands and closed her eyes. What lies in the heart of Sirius Black?

She crushed the heart, fingers digging into spongy muscle. Blood sprayed onto the large slate she was using as a canvas. She squeezed tightly, wringing it out, then discarded it and opened her eyes. The slate was spattered with blood, seemingly randomly, but Violet's practiced eyes picked out the patterns that held meaning from the meaningless.

There was a large line of blood, ending in wavy lines. The Torch; Black had a singular purpose that he would pursue above all else. The base of the Torch curved and tapered. The Sickle; His purpose was one of vengeance. Its tip was sharp, indicating that he believed himself close to his target. So he would likely remain in Britain, then. The Torch was larger and more defined that she had ever seen it. Black was truly obsessed with his task.

Ironic, that. Violet sought to avenge herself against a man who himself was overcome by the same urge. But who could he be hunting? Was he trying to avenge the Dark Lord or himself? Perhaps he was trying to strike some kind of blow against the Ministry for his imprisonment?

Wait. Violet peered closer to the slate. There was another shape, one even larger than the Torch, but indistinct. The Wraith; it was old and hazy, encompassing all the other symbols, indicating that it had been an intrinsic part of him for many years, but the edges were sharp, suggesting a renewed intensity.

Sorrow.

Perhaps he regretted his treachery, or perhaps the defeat of his Lord. It didn't matter to Violet either way. Other, lesser shapes, spoke of his recklessness and desperation, but with a non-sapient sacrifice, only the largest symbols could be taken for fact.

Satisfied with the heart, Violet clicked her fingers, and cold water sprayed the slate, cleaning it once more. Eyes next, I think. What have the eyes of Sirius Black seen?

She plucked out the bulls eyes, then closed her own as she crushed them. She hissed as a burning sensation began to build in her eyes. This part was always unpleasant. Slowly, her vision faded, replaced by hazy images of Sirius Black's recent past.

Sitting in a cold cell.

Swimming through dark waters.

Sprinting through a grassy field, furred legs carrying her at great speed.

Cultivated fields, dark forests, and desolate countryside.

A great castle, dominating the landscape from its position atop a hill.

Violet shook her head as her own vision returned to her, fighting back a wave of nausea. She always found the eyes disorienting. Still, she'd learned several useful things. Firstly, Black could turn himself into some sort of animal. That was interesting, as while many fae had the ability—Satria, for instance, could transform herself into a white dove—she hadn't known that wizards were capable of it too. She tried to remember the vision, but it had been quite blurry. Perhaps his form was some sort of wolf? Or maybe a cat? She wasn't sure, but it was certainly useful to know to keep an eye out for animals acting suspiciously.

The most important vision was clearly the one of the castle. Since she had seen it last, it was likely very recent. Was the target of Black's vengeance hiding in the castle? She frowned. How many inhabited castles even were there in magical Britain? There couldn't be that many. Perhaps if she could identify the castle she could find Black in its vicinity.

She turned her attention back to the carcass. The sacrifice would have enough value for one more divining, but what to choose? The hooves would give her insight into Black's fears, but—no. She made up her mind, cutting out the animal's brain.

She crushed it too, and in her mind rang out a single thought that was not her own. He's at Hogwarts.

~#~

After learning that Black was lurking around Hogwarts, Violet took out a room in Hogsmeade. To her immense irritation, Hogsmeade too was afflicted with the presence of Dementors, their presence thoroughly spoiling any desire she might have had to explore the all-wizarding village. It clearly was nothing like Knockturn Alley, but its charming innocence had an appeal of its own, even if she wouldn't have an opportunity to witness illegal wizard's duels here. Or at least, it would, if the bloody Dementors weren't spreading a fog of despair all over the place. Really, she'd probably be hunting Black even if he hadn't betrayed her parents, just to get the Ministry to recall the Dementors.

It was only a matter of time until she caught up with him. Now that she knew his general vicinity, she had instructed a small army of pixies to search for Black or any suspiciously acting animals. It was simply a matter of relaxing in her room above the Three Broomsticks until then, supplied with an ample stockpile of chocolate to ward off the Dementor's presence.

Just four days later, a green skinned pixie, frantic with excitement, accosted Violet, fluttering about her hair in an excited frenzy. Apparently, she had spotted a man matching Black's description near the haunted hut known to the residents of Hogsmeade as the Shrieking Shack. Violet could have slapped herself. Of course an escaped convict would be drawn to a desolate building most people were afraid of. She'd given the pixie a single galleon in reward, which the pixie had stared at reverently, barely able to fly under its weight. Violet had no clue what a pixie would do with a galleon, but the puny creature seemed to like it, bowing deeply before flying clumsily away.

She had immediately set off for the Shack, wand in her hand. It had been empty, unfortunately, but there were clear signs of inhabitation. A few chicken bones were scattered in a corner, and she found a copy of the Daily Prophet. Clearly, Black was visiting this place frequently. All she had to do was wait.

She took a seat in a rickety chair, wand in her lap. With nothing to do but wait, she found her mind wandering. It was rather ironic that she intended to kill the first person who could tell her anything about her parents. It wasn't that missed her parents—hadn't for years now—but she still had a certain curiosity towards them. Her mother had, after all, found the wherewithal to strike a bargain with a Winter Lady, which was no mean feat. Maybe she would extract some answers from Black before killing him.

Suddenly, she heard a scraping sound and shot to her feet, wand flicking into her hand. A trapdoor in one corner of the room, concealed well enough that she had not noticed it earlier, swung open, and a man pulled himself up from it, a knife clenched between his teeth. Violet watched silently.

Violet recognized him immediately from the Ministry posters. His hair was black, long and unkempt. His features were gaunt, his skin tight and waxy. He clearly had been an extremely handsome man once, before the Dementors had taken that from him. His eyes flickered wildly like a scared animal. When they landed on Violet, he went utterly still.

His eyes widened and he grabbed the knife, brandishing it wildly. "Drop the wand," he croaked, voice harsh with disuse.

Violet furrowed her brow in mock thought. "Hmm. You know, I don't think I will, actually," she said.

Black laughed, sounding quite mad. "Don't you recognize me?" he said with a broad grin, showing yellow teeth. "You should be running and screaming right now."

Violet sneered. "Of course I recognize you. Filthy and feral, you have the countenance of a traitor. Just the man I'm looking for."

"Huh," said Black. "You look a bit young for a Hit Witch, if you don't mind me saying." He still held his knife out threateningly, but a shadow of fear was visible in his eyes, which were fixed on Violet's wand.

"Oh, I'm not with the Ministry," Violet said.

"Bounty hunter, then," Black said, expression darkening.

Violet laughed coldly, the sound making Black flinch. Curious, she extended a thread of Legilimency.

A woman's laugh, cruel and insane, as she hammered against the bars of her cell.

She immediately withdrew. His mind was twisted and warped, and she had no desire to delve back into it. "Truth be told, I'm not sure what the bounty on you even is," Violet admitted. "But I'm not here for that."

Black's eyes flickered to the exit as if judging whether he could make a run for it. "Idealist, then. I was one of those, once."

"Not that either," she said, staring at him intently. "Come now, Black, don't you recognize me?"

He squinted, then shook his head with another laugh. "No. But I've forgotten a lot, so why don't you introduce yourself again?"

Violet tutted. "The Dementors must have been thorough indeed for you to forget the daughter of the man you betrayed."

"No," he growled with such vehemence that Violet took an unconscious step backward. "She's dead. How dare—"

He suddenly lunged with the knife, face wracked with the madness of Azkaban. Violet's wand blurred in a sharp motion.

"Crucio!"

He collapsed, writhing and screaming loudly enough to reinforce the rumors of the Shrieking Shack's haunting for another decade. Violet held the curse for only a few seconds before releasing it. Black was half-mad already, and she wanted him lucid. Incomprehensible words tumbled from his lips as he twitched, before he finally whispered, "B-Bella?"

She kicked him, rolling him over onto his back. "It's me, Black. Violet Potter. I don't know what ghost of the past you're lost in, but if you don't wake up soon, I'm going to lose patience."

"You," he gasped. "How?"

"Clearly, I didn't die. More's the pity to you, I'm sure. Now explain." She pressed the tip of her wand into the base of his neck, and his breathing hitched at the pressure.

Suddenly frantic, he all but shouted, "It wasn't me! Kill me, but kill him too!"

"'Him?' The man you're looking for at Hogwarts?"

"He's a rat," Black hissed. "Wormtail. We swapped, you see. It was my idea—stupid, stupid. Thought I was clever, but so stupid." He dissolved into giggles then, until Violet kicked him in the ribs, drawing a grunt.

Violet knelt by him, grasping his chin and forcing him to look at her. "Who," she said slowly, "is Wormtail?"

"Pettigrew," Black said, strangely calm now. "We switched, you see. It was my idea. Make him the secret keeper. Who would ever expect us to trust Peter?" He laughed.

"Pettigrew?" Violet shook her head. "You already killed him, Black. You're mad."

"I know," he barked. "Mad, that is. But Pettigrew's alive. He betrayed your parents and framed me. Blew up the whole street." His head lolled, but his dark eyes stayed fixed on Violet. "It's good that you're… like this. You'll make him scream. Better than me, anyway. I never could cast that curse properly."

Violet stared at him. Strange as it was, she was inclined to believe him. She had seen his mind, and he simply was too mentally disturbed to lie convincingly. She sighed. "Sit up, Black. I assume Pettigrew is in Hogwarts?"

He stared at her, as if in shock. "You believe me?"

"Looks like it. You're clearly a shit liar right now." She offered him an arm, helping him up. "Sorry about the Cruciatus, but you were coming at me with a knife."

That dragged another harsh laugh from him. "He's a rat—an Animagus. He's pretending to be a student's pet, in Hogwarts. That's where I was, before you found me. I just need to figure a way into Gryffindor Tower."

Violet gave him a dubious look. Somehow she doubted he was capable of stealthy infiltration, in his current state. "What student?"

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "What student is he the pet of?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. His name is Ron Weasley. Red hair, freckles. 'Bout your age, I think. Gryffindor." He frowned suddenly. "Why aren't you at Hogwarts?"

Violet shrugged. "I got a better offer. Weasley, huh? Funny how things work out." She pointed at the trapdoor. "That leads to Hogwarts, does it?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Used it a whole lot, back in the day. It lets out under the Whomping Willow. Uh, that's a willow that, uh—"

"Whomps."

"Yeah," he finished lamely. "But if you press the knot at its base, it'll stop whomping."

"Right," said Violet. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back soon with a rat."

"I'm coming with you," he said immediately, picking himself up from the floor and stumbling immediately.

"Yeah, that's unlikely," said Violet. "One of us can pass for a student. The other looks like a crazed maniac. You're staying right here."

"But you don't have the robes," Black argued desperately. "You don't look like a student either."

Violet smirked as she walked over to the trapdoor and ran her hands over her robes, channeling Winter magic. They shimmered, and suddenly she was clad in Hogwarts robes, tie Gryffindor red and gold. Her hair turned blonde and her features softened slightly, faint scars disappearing. Her glamours were not quite as impenetrable as Satria's, but they would easily stand up to conventional scrutiny. Besides, if all went well, she wouldn't be seen at all.

Black gaped at her as she dropped down into the passageway, laughing softly. Ron Weasley. Sometimes, things just work out.

The passageway to Hogwarts was long and winding, but that gave her ample time to draft her letter.

Gentlemen,

It has been some time. Rejoice, for you will soon be freed of your debt.

I need you to bring me your brother's pet rat. I am aware that this may seem an unusual request, but I assure you that it is of utmost importance and urgency.

The rat is more than it seems; I suggest you stun it on sight and do not allow it to wake until it is delivered to me.

Meet me near the Whomping Willow. Do not tarry.

- Frost

Reaching the end of the passageway, Violet carefully climbed out of the tunnel. The Willow began flailing at her immediately, and she had to duck and shield against several branches before managing to locate the knot, which caused the tree to freeze in place when she pressed it. She quickly scanned her surroundings, and, assured that no one had seen her emerge from the tunnel, tapped the letter with her wand, casting a rather useful charm. It immediately folded itself into an origami bird and flew away, toward the castle.

With that, Violet had nothing to do but wait. She didn't have her invisibility cloak with her, but it wasn't likely that anyone would come by and she looked like a Hogwarts student anyway. Surely the students wouldn't be able to recognize every other student in the school.

She spent the time practicing her Transfiguration, first to create a chair to sit in, then making it increasingly gaudily ornamented. By the time the Weasley twins arrived, about half an hour later, she was perched on a veritable throne. It was important to keep up appearances after all, if she wanted to maintain an appropriate air of mystique.

The twins had aged well, she noted idly as they approached. Tall and well built, with none of the gangliness common to boys their age, they exuded an aura of amusement and good spirits, as though there was nothing they would enjoy more than stealing their brother's rat to fulfill a shady debt.

Well, Violet thought, considering they were trying to illegally buy Erumpent fluid at the age of thirteen, there probably isn't.

She waved them over. One of the twins squinted at her. "Err, didn't you have black hair before?"

"Disguise," Violet said. "Why? Does it suit me?"

The other twin shook his hand noncommittally. "It sort of detracts from the impression of a dark witch in training you have going. Nice throne, by the way. Very villainous. And the robes look very realistic as well, though I would have recommended Slytherin for you."

"Indeed, George," said the other. "The letters were a nice touch as well."

"Yes, yes, Fred. And what a task! What could she possibly want with Ickle Ronniekin's rat?"

"Nothing good, dear brother. Perhaps a sacrifice for a dark ritual?"

"You're likely to be sacrificed if you keep that up," Violet said dryly. She gestured to one of them. "Fred, right?"

"No, no," he said, grinning. "You have us confused. I'm George."

Violet gave him a suspicious look and brushed against his mind. "Liar. You're Fred."

"What?" they both said, totally nonplussed.

"How the hell—" started one.

"—did you know that?" finished the other.

"Dark powers beyond your comprehension. Did you bring the rat?"

"'Did you bring the rat,'" Fred parroted. "As if we could fail in such a simple mission." He clasped a hand over his heart in mock offense, but pulled a rumpled, unconscious rat from a robe pocket. "Seriously though, I feel a bit offended that you think our lives are only worth one lame rat."

Violet rolled her eyes, taking the rat. She eyed it carefully. Rats were ugly at the best of times, but this one seemed somehow uglier than most, with ragged fur and battered eats. Notably, it was missing a finger on a front paw.

"I have been… well, not reliably, but I've been informed that this rat is not a rat at all."

George snorted. "Yeah, I always thought he looked more like a fish, myself."

"Not quite what I meant," said Violet. She smiled slyly. "I don't suppose either of you boys happen to know a spell to reveal an Animagus?"

"What?" Fred said, looking disturbed. "What're you on about?"

Violet ignored him, pointing her wand at the rat and concentrating deeply. She'd never tried this particular spell silently, but she certainly wasn't going to say it out loud in front of witnesses.

Rennervate! Imperio!

To her relief, even the weaker silent Imperius took effect easily, so easily that Violet wondered for a moment if the rat actually was Pettigrew. But a moment later, she noticed the faint stirrings of resistance that identified an intelligent being under the curse. They were the weakest she had ever felt, and she wondered whether he was particularly weak willed or if years spent in the form of an animal had affected his mind.

Transform.

As the rat shifted and blurred, growing rapidly, Fred and George Weasley stepped backward in shock, reaching for their own wands. A moment later, a man stood before them. He was short, short enough that Violet stood nearly level with him, and there was a distinctly ratlike bearing to his features. He stood in a stupor, under the Imperius without any direct orders.

"Is that Scabbers?" exclaimed George. "Merlin's saggy—"

"You mean," said Fred slowly, his expression dark, "that this bloke's been sleeping in Ron's room for who knows how long?"

Violet ignored them as she studied the man who had truly betrayed her parents. He certainly looked the part of a contemptible traitor, she mused. Why had he chosen to live as a rat for so long when he could have instead fled Britain? Had he truly feared Sirius Black so deeply?

"Well, I appreciate your help, gentlemen. It would seem that our affairs are now settled. Best of luck." Violet flicked her wand, launching a stone at the knot on the Whomping Willow and led Pettigrew toward the tunnel.

"Wait!" exclaimed George. "Who the hell is this? How did you even know he was Scabbers?"

Violet shrugged. It wasn't like telling them would hurt anything, and they were rather amusing. "Sirius Black told me. And his name is Peter Pettigrew."

"What?" George looked utterly confused, and more than a little angry. "The bloke Black murdered?"

"Apparently not," said Violet. "Black claims that Pettigrew betrayed the Potters and that when he went after him, he blew up the street and framed him." She gestured to the ragged man. "Judging by the evidence, I'd say he's telling the truth."

"So… so Black's innocent then?" Fred asked. "Shit, we have to go to the Professors. This is serious."

"No," said Violet sharply. "You will not. Remember that you still draw breath thanks only to me. Pettigrew is mine to do with as I will. And Black, I suppose."

The twins exchanged a helpless look. Finally, George said, "Black wants to kill him, doesn't he." It wasn't a question.

Violet laughed. "Oh, I'm quite certain that there is nothing he wants more. Now, I really must go. Tell no one." With that, she crawled back through the concealed passageway, bidding Pettigrew to follow her. Fred and George watched her go, then dissolved into heated whispers. Violet wasn't too worried about them telling anyone. They seemed intelligent enough to realize that she would make an unwelcome enemy.

Once they were far enough from the entrance to prevent sound from traveling, Violet allowed her glamour to fade and lifted the Imperius. Pettigrew scuttled backwards, beginning to transform.

"Crucio!"

By the time she lifted the curse, Pettigrew could not so much as stand, let alone transform, and Violet was in a much better mood. The ecstasy of the Cruciatus never seemed to lessen, no matter how many times she cast it.

"Hello, Peter," she said softly. "An old friend of yours didn't recognize me. Do you?"

Small, terrified eyes stared at her. Finally, he shook his head and buried his face in his arm, unwilling to look at her. His body convulsed erratically, and he whimpered softly.

"My name is Violet," she said, enjoying the pathetic man's flinch of recognition. "You know, there's an odd side effect to improving at Occlumency. Your memory improves, and sometimes you get flashes of memory from when you were very young. I don't have very many, but I think I might just recognize your face. You were much less ugly then, of course."

"Violet," the man cried. "Thank Merlin it's you. Black's a liar! He betrayed your parents, and now he wants to kill me too!"

Violet laughed, making him flinch again. Black's mind may have been labyrinthine with madness, but Pettigrew's was as easily read as a first year's textbook. "Crucio!" she cast again.

This time she held it for only a few seconds, but it was enough to wrest more screams of agony from Pettigrew. He bit his tongue, and blood dribbled from his mouth. "Now, now, Peter, you shouldn't tell lies. I'll see right through them."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice thick around his mangled tongue. "I didn't mean to do it. I wasn't brave like your father." Desperately, he continued, "Your parents wouldn't have wanted you to be a murderer, Violet."

She broke into uncontrollable laughter. She couldn't help it; Pettigrew's latest tactic was really, truly, amusing. "Oh, Peter," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "What part of my Cruciatuses made you think that would work?"

Pettigrew changed tack in the blink of an eye. "I can serve you, Violet—My Lady. I'm a good servant."

"I don't think so, Peter. Maybe Voldemort would settle for such a pathetic follower, but I have higher standards." She was about to Cruciate him again when a sense of apathy struck her. She was finding it difficult to muster much hatred for such a pitiable figure. It was better just to get it over with. Besides, Black clearly wanted to kill him more than she did. "Imperio. Follow me."

Under the Imperius, he was able to rise and fight through the shakes of the Cruciatius. She led him back through the passageway, dark thoughts in her head. Was this the legacy of her parents, a broken man and a traitor? No. I am their legacy. It was something of a revelation to her. She had never before truly considered herself to be connected to parents, shaped as she was first by her muggle relatives and then by Winter, but now, confronted by the tortured ghosts of her parents' past, she realized that she could finally accept them. One day, she would reclaim her true name, and two worlds would remember the name Potter.

She threw open the trapdoor and climbed out. Black was still seated, and he started as she climbed out. "Well?" he barked. "How did it go?"

In answer, Violet commanded Pettigrew to join them. Black fell silent at the sight, expression filling with unholy hatred. "You!"

Violet lifted the Imperius, and Pettigrew fell to his knees as his legs gave out from under him. He spat out a globule of blood. "Please," he moaned. "Please, Sirius. I'm so, so sorry."

"Rat," Black spat. He slashed his knife across Pettigrew's face, drawing a spray of blood and making him yelp. "Traitor." Another slash.

Violet coughed, and Black froze, looking at her as if he had only just then remembered her presence. "What is it?" he said. "This scum deserves nothing less."

"I don't disagree," Violet said, amused. "But you might want to leave his face recognizable if you intend to use him to claim your innocence."

Black blinked dumbly. Perhaps he hadn't even considered the possibility of becoming a free man once more. "You think that could work?" he asked quietly.

Violet shrugged. "No idea. It would probably work better if he were alive, but that's not happening."

"No," Black said. "It's not. You already get your licks in?"

"Yes," she said. She had taken what satisfaction there was in his torture. If it were just her, she'd kill him and be done with it, but she didn't mind Black taking some time first. "He's all yours."

Black grinned, expression as cruel as the wanted posters. "Good. I may not have a wand, but some things should be done with your hands."

Pettigrew whimpered in fear, trying to stem the flow of blood. Black dropped his knife and knelt before the fallen man, and Violet watched with mild interest as he slowly beat, ripped apart, and generally broke him. Several minutes later, Pettigrew drew one last agonized breath, and Black looked up. She could see the vengeful fury that had sustained him draining away, leaving only a deep and abiding sorrow.

"Never imagined it could end like this," Black said. "James, dead. Peter, a traitor… and dead. Me, as good as. Remus, gone without a trace. Maybe he found something better, though I doubt it." He laughed bitterly. "I was your godfather, you know. If I'd been less of a vengeful prick, things… would have been different."

Violet looked away. It was a strange thing to imagine. Would a young Sirius Black, undamaged by Azkaban, have been a good guardian? Certainly, he couldn't have been worse than the Dursleys. She shook herself. It was a moot point anyway. One way or another, Satria would have come for her.

"I'm not stupid, you know," he said, not looking at her. "I know you're darker than any child of Lily and James should be. Mother would have probably loved you. I know… something must have happened to make you this way. I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"Don't beat yourself up, Black. If anyone's to blame, it's my mother. But I'm not complaining." She locked eyes with him. "Understand me, Black, I'm not a little girl tragically in over her head, wracked with guilt for her crimes. Maybe that described me once, but not for a very long time. I don't feel an ounce of guilt or regret, and I have no desire for 'redemption.' Don't try to save me from something I am."

Black sighed. "I understand," he said. Violet wondered if he really did. "Can I ask you a favor? Call me Sirius. Please. I fucking hate my family name."

"If that's what you want, Sirius." She looked at him. Emaciated, with eyes dark with madness, she doubted he would last long if left to his own devices. And, although she had only just met him, he had been friends with her father, and that meant at least something. "What will you do now?"

"No idea," he said. "Die, I suppose. Maybe I'll go find a Dementor."

Violet scoffed. "Better I end you here and now than one of those fiends. Why not leave the country?"

"Nah. Wouldn't feel right. There's nothing for me out there, but here…"

"Don't make your choices for me, Sirius. I don't need a godfather." At his pitiful expression, she relented. "But, if you pull yourself together, I suppose I could consider a friend."

For the first time, there was a spark of life in him. "You know," he said, "they never even gave me a trial. Think that if I went to Dumbledore with the rat's head it'd be enough to get me one?"

"Don't know," Violet said. "Don't know Dumbledore, but if you insist on acquittal, it's probably your best chance. The Ministry has a Kiss-On-Sight order for you, you know."

"I know," he said. "But it wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore's gone against the Ministry." He scowled darkly. "And the old man owes me. Worst case, I get Kissed. And I was planning to seek that out just now, so how bad could it be?"

Violet nodded, a sad half smile crossing her face. "In the event you get the kiss, is there anything you want me to do? One last vengeance, from beyond the grave?"

Sirius frowned, likely conflicted between a desire for revenge and an unwillingness to involve his goddaughter. But, in the end, he spoke. "Barty Crouch. He's the one that locked me away without a trial. Bellatrix Lestrange, if she ever escapes Azkaban. Always promised I'd kill her one day. And…" He sighed. "If you ever meet a man named Remus Lupin, tell him I forgive him."

"I understand," said Violet. "I won't forget. If you die, so do they. And in exchange, don't tell anyone that I'm alive."

Sirius grinned, though she got the impression that he wasn't really feeling it. "All right. No time like the present, right? Gryffindors forward, and all that. D'you think you could…"

Nodding, Violet cast a powerful cutting hex, severing Pettigrew's head. Sirius picked up the decapitated head without flinching and transformed into a big black dog, head and all. He gave her one last look with huge, sorrowful eyes, then bounded out of the Shrieking Shack, long strides eating up the distance toward the castle. Violet watched him go, lost in thought. With luck, tomorrow's Prophet wouldn't tell of his Kissing. If it did, she'd have work to do.

AN: Thanks to everyone who has written a review.

griezz: As for Hermione, she survived first year. In canon, she was only trapped with the troll after Harry and Ron locked the door on it to trap it in the bathroom. Additionally, it seems probable that Harry's absence would have enough of a butterfly effect that Ron's mockery wouldn't make her hide in the bathroom on Halloween at all. (It would still happen, but probably on a different, troll-free day.) With that said, it won't really matter in this story as I don't see her having a significant role. Thanks for the review!