Violet appeared in her flat with a soft crack, wand already in her hand. Thankfully, the room was clear. Casting the Inviolatus had taken a lot our of her, and she would prefer to avoid any further conflict tonight. She quickly changed out of her ragged and bloodstained robes, then gathered anything of value to her, consisting of a rather short list of items. She was not prone to sentimentality, and what few possessions did hold emotional value to her, such as the rifle Armen had given her or the stuffed head of the Tíogair-Sídhe, were stowed safely in the Wyld. So she gathered her sword, her more valuable books, the handful of letters she had received in her time in the mortal world as well as a few other items, then set about scrawling a short note.
Jon,
Suffice to say I've gotten myself involved in another situation, pertaining to the strange behavior of Knockturn's residents both of us have taken note of,that has forced me to vacate the premises. I will not describe it, and I encourage you not to investigate yourself. Some unsavory types may come asking after me; feel free to divulge whatever information you believe necessary as long as it is not anything truly sensitive.
If, against my advice, you insist on fighting another war, I only ask that you do not put your trust in the Ministry once more. Seek instead the undying beast of the skies. You might start with my godfather. Whatever you choose, we will see each other again.
Thank you for everything,
Violet
She tapped the letter and it folded into a paper bird and fluttered away. She took one last look around. When she had first rented the small flat, she had never imagined that she would spend the best part of the next three years there. She had changed a great deal, here, learning just what it was to be human. Who would she be right now if she had never left the Wyld, never spoken to another human since leaving her relatives? The flat represented more than just a second home. It represented Valentina Frost, duelist, wanderer, and, above all, human.
She allowed herself several moments of melancholy, then shook her head ruefully. All things came to an end, after all, and when she returned to the mortal world, it be under a new name. Or, rather, an old one.
She vanished with another crack.
~#~
It was night in Winter, the frozen landscape illuminated only by the moon and the canopy of stars, far brighter and more colorful than the mortal world could hope to match. Dry snow squeaked beneath Violet's feet. Even after only a week on Earth, the beauty of the Wyld was conspicuous. Yet, it lacked a certain vibrancy that mortals enjoyed. Like a stone sculpture, it was splendid and eternal, but also cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.
She reached the court, slipping between wonders of architecture along pristine streets. Satria was in the manor house, she knew. Her sensitivity to powerful fae had grown significantly over the last few years as her talent for Winter magic had begun to come into its own. A fae as powerful as a Lady was unmistakable.
Satria greeted her in an elegantly furnished sitting room. A single massive window spilled moonlight into the room, bathing her gauzy dress in pale light and haloing around her white hair. Even here, sprawled in an armchair with a half full wineglass resting in her fingers, she held a thoughtless elegance about her. Such was the hallmark of all fae of course, but Violet was firm in her opinion that none of them could quite compare to Satria.
"Welcome back," she said, a teasing smile curling her lips. "I did not expect to see you so soon. Did you miss me so?"
A light flush crept up Violet's neck as she recalled the more pleasant diversions of her last visit. Satria had taken great pleasure in ridding her of the last of her innocence. She was careful not to allow any of her reaction to show on her face, though if Satria's widening smile was anything to go by, she had not been entirely successful.
"Hardly," Violet said archly. "It would be more accurate to say that I'm here because I have nowhere else to go."
"Oh?" Satria gestured nonchalantly, and a crystalline wineglass of unmelting ice rose from a small end table. She filled it from a bottle and handed to to Violet. "Turmoil in the mortal world?"
"You could say that," Violet said with some humor. "Do you remember the man who dubbed himself Lord Voldemort?"
"It would be difficult to forget he who brought about our meeting." She frowned. "But he should be quite dead now, no?"
Violet laughed darkly. "That would be the problem, actually. It seems our Dark Lord has defeated Death."
Satria stilled. "Impossible," she said flatly.
"So certain, are you?" Now it was Violet who allowed her voice to take on a teasing note. "Even though you freely admit to know nothing of mortal magic?"
"It is not the same," she said sharply. "What is possible, I may not know, but what is certainly impossible…" She rose to her feet, pacing. "Fuck!"
Violet raised an eyebrow at the vehement profanity. "Is something the matter?"
"Yes. Fate has made a fool of me. I have made the most fundamental of errors in interpreting the intimations of prophecy."
Violet said nothing, sure that she would elaborate. Finally, Satria returned to her chair and took a deep drink of wine. "Have you ever wondered why your mother sought my aegis in the first place?"
Frowning at the unexpected turn of conversation, Violet said, "I admit I have not considered it deeply. I was under the impression that my parents had simply made an enemy of Lord Voldemort and feared he would avenge himself on me."
"A logical conclusion," said Satria. "But there is more to it than that. A prophecy was made about you, pertaining to Lord Voldemort."
Violet wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. She had a deep respect for true Divination, and prophecies were considered one of the rarest and most accurate forms of the field. But that wasn't what was really bothering her. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Simply put? I thought it had already been fulfilled and was utterly irrelevant." She shook her head. "As I said, foolish of me. One should never think to truly understand Fate." She shook her head, long hair waving gracefully. "Perhaps if I recite it, you will come to understand why I believed so." She closed her eyes and began to speak, an element of reverence slipping into her tone.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, borne on winds of sleet and hail…
"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…
"And the Dark Lord will know not their threat, but they will have power the Dark Lord knows not…
"And either must die at the hand of the other for neither will rest while the other survives…
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
Silence lapsed for nearly a minute following Satria's recital. Finally, Violet said, "I suppose I can see how you believed the Prophecy fulfilled."
"Quite. Lord Voldemort, slain by a power he knew not. It all worked out quite nicely, or so I thought before he managed to violate the most fundamental law of reality." Her voice had an odd tone, and Violet thought she may have been envious.
"Well," said Violet, quite proud that her voice was only slightly shakier than normal, "I suppose I will have to find a way kill him for good, then."
"Indeed. But you would do the same even were it not for the prophecy, no?"
Satria was correct, of course. Voldemort had murdered her parents, and such an offense could not be borne. A fae would never forget a slight, and Violet had adopted enough of their mentality that she would inevitably seek to avenge herself against him.
"But it seems that we have a problem," continued Satria. "You can hardly wage a war in the mortal world while straddling between two. Therefore, I have a suggestion: your period of fealty approaches its end, in less than a year. Once it does, you will be free to fully pursue your interests in the mortal world, although I hope that you do not forget our plans for the future."
Violet nodded. That had never been in doubt.
"Seeing as Earth is rather… unstable at the moment, I suggest you spend the rest of the year in the Wyld," said Satria. "We will make the most of your time here to further our aims. Then, you will murder Lord Voldemort and return to the Court, and then we shall make our move."
"Agreed," said Violet. "But when I do, it will be as an equal."
Satria looked at her for a long moment, then winked slowly. "Very well. It will be a pleasure to rule by your side."
A shiver ran down Violet's spine, and she allowed herself to reach for the beautiful fae. Yes, spending a year in the Wyld sounded like a good idea indeed.
~#~
Jon Whitby stared into the deep amber Firewhisky as he rolled his wand between his fingers. Behind him, the fireplace snapped and crackled, casting warmth upon his back. Flickering firelight illuminated the parchment before him. Though hastily written, the letters were elegant and neat, as befitting their writer.
Valentina Frost. Violet Potter.
Good lord, if someone had told him four years ago that he would have the Savior renting one of his rooms, he would have politely recommended a stay in St. Mungo's for mental addlement.
But it wasn't that simple, was it? Violet Potter was nothing like the world believed. Oh, there were all manner of wild stories about her, spurred on by her mysterious disappearance. But if anything, the truth was stranger than fiction. Jon had seen many things in his time, but he had never seen a twelve year old cast an Unforgivable curse before he met Violet. To be sure, he was in no position to cast moral judgment, not after spending years as a mercenary after quitting the Hit Wizards, but there was still something disquieting about such darkness in one so young.
Even so, the girl had a certain charisma to her. Why else would he have followed her in battle against an inhuman being whose true nature he tried very hard not to think about?
Ah, yes, the gold.
She had compensated him ludicrously well for his assistance with bars of gold and precious stones. Where she had acquired such wealth, he didn't know—were the Potters truly so wealthy? Or was it thanks to her mysterious "guardian," who obviously wasn't guarding her from anything at all?
And now she was gone, fleeing from an evil that should have died fourteen years ago. Oh, Jon could read between the lines of her letter well enough, and he had recognized the demeanor of the men who had come to question him about his former tenant. There had always been rumors that the Dark Lord had achieved some measure of immortality, and he was now nearly convinced of it.
Damn it.
He drank deeply of his whisky, relishing the deep burn. The last war had taken nearly everything from him, had slain his friends around him, perpetually stained his hands with blood, had forever destroyed his faith in the Ministry…
And yet, despite all that, he couldn't find it in himself to take Violet's perfectly reasonable advice to leave well enough alone. He knew she wouldn't be following the same recommendation, of course. There was no fight the girl would not take, no line she would not cross. And he, fool he was, was feeling something he hadn't felt for over a decade.
Duty.
The specter of war loomed over the horizon. The Dark Lord had defeated even death—who could hope to stand against that sort of power? If anyone could, it was Violet. The dark held no fear for her, after all, but still something within him twisted uncomfortably at the thought of a child fighting while he lazed in safety.
Fool he was, but coward he was not. If his fate was to die by the hand of an abomination against nature, he would die with a wand in his hand. His fingers clenched around a pinch of Floo powder, heartbeat steady. He was about to damn himself, and he would do it with a smile on his face. Once, when he had been a young man, he had fancied himself a hero. Maybe, this time, he would get it right.
The fire flashed green and, in a voice warmed by Firewhisky, he said, "Sirius Black."
~#~
"Bloody heelllll—ooph!"
With a great clattering and suitably dramatic exclamation, Nymphadora Tonks fell into a nightstand, groaning as her head smacked against the floor. The lamp resting on the nightstand went flying, shattering and spreading lamp oil over her carpet. Tonks groaned.
"Really, Nymphadora, do you have to make such a racket—oh, not again." Andromeda, drawn by the noise peered through the door into Tonks' room. She flicked her wand, cleaning the glass and oil from the carpet with an efficacy that Tonks could only dream of. If she had attempted such a charm, it would have been more likely to ignite the oil than clean it.
"Are you all right?" she asked, infuriatingly kindly.
"Absolutely fantastic, thanks," Tonks snapped. "I'm a cripple who can't even use the loo without you babysitting me."
Andromeda sighed. "You're not a cripple. If you would just ask for help…" She prodded Tonks' stomach with her wand, making her squirm irritably. "Stay still. You're lucky you didn't reopen the wound."
Tonks reluctantly let her guide her back to her bed. The situation was positively infuriating and, not that she would admit it to herself, more than a little frightening. She'd had her fair share of injuries before, but nothing that took more than a day or two to recover from. But the Entrail-Expelling Curse had left her an invalid for four days already, with no signs of an imminent recovery. And that wasn't even considering how close she had come to not making it home at all. If she were honest with herself, she didn't mind her mother's ministrations nearly as much as she feigned.
Andromeda pursed her lips taking in Tonks' pale visage. "As I was going to say, you have a visitor to see you. But if you're not feeling up to it…"
"Who?"
"Alastor Moody," she said, turning up her nose as if she had smelled something unpleasant.
"Really?" Tonks laughed. "I'm surprised you let him in."
"I didn't. I said he could sit on the stoop until I asked you if you wanted to see him." She gave her a sharp look. "Don't feel like you have to talk to him. The Order has done quite enough damage already."
"It's fine," said Tonks, even if the last thing she wanted right now was to talk to her old mentor while confined to a bed. "I'll talk to him."
"Fine," said Andromeda. "Maybe they can give you another mission so that you can get cursed again. I do so love it when you turn up on my doorstep bleeding out from dark magic."
She turned abruptly, striding from the room. Tonks sighed. Mum had been bad enough when she joined the Aurors, then worse when she found out about the Order, but since she had been injured, it had reached an entirely new level of not-so-subtle hints about how her 'reckless life choices' were going to bring about the early heart failure of her parents. Dad at least respected her choices, even if she could tell that he worried too.
She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling patterns. She was not looking forward to admitting that she had violated the single most important Auror regulation—don't get into a duel without backup. Moody must have drilled it into her hundreds of times, but what did she do? Charge in, start a duel, and get cursed badly enough that she had to be rescued by the girl she was trying to protect. She was only lucky that it hadn't been official Auror work, or she'd probably be back in training before she could say "Constant Vigilance."
Mad-Eye stomped into the room, covertly scanning it for a possible ambush. Tonks rolled her eyes. His paranoia had been bad enough before Voldemort's return and had only been exacerbated since.
"'Lo, Tonks," he said.
"Wotcher," she responded dully.
Mad-Eye smirked and conjured a distinctly uncomfortable looking wooden chair to sit in. "Andromeda was quite displeased to see me. Thought she might actually curse me, for a minute there."
Tonks sighed. Just what she needed, a duel between her mother and Mad-Eye. There was no way the house would survive such a cataclysm. "I'll talk to her," she said. "She's been a bit unreasonable lately."
Mad-Eye shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me either way. You'll be pleased to know that Kingsley covered for you. Amelia thinks you've gone to Majorca on holiday."
Tonks snorted. "And she believed that?"
"Not for a second. But it's your time off, so what's she gonna do? Nothing, though you'd better get your story in order before you go back to the office. And she's going to be pissed that you didn't get her by-your-leave."
"Lovely."
"Well, that's that. Black's quite worried about you, by the way. Sends his love. Now," he said gruffly, "care to explain what you're doing in bed?"
"Got cursed."
He smirked. "I can see that, lassie. Question is, how you managed to get cursed half dead on an intelligence operation."
Tonks sighed. "So this is a debriefing, then?"
"Sure, we can call it that if it makes you feel better. Get on with it."
Well, here comes the lecture. No point delaying it any further.
"Right. Right, well I guess I sort of fucked up."
"I gathered," Mad-Eye replied in the driest tone she had ever heard from him.
Tonks gave him a look. "So I was watching the duel, like you said to. Between a Jordan Flechester and a Valentina Frost. Frost won, and pretty easily, if you ask me."
Mad-Eye frowned. "I remember a Flechester. He was a big name, back in the day."
"Former champion apparently, not that it helped him much. Frost pummeled him. So, I was thinking she definitely wasn't the sort of person we'd want to see on the other side."
"Logical."
"Exactly," Tonks said. "And she was young, too. I'd almost say Hogwarts age. So when I saw her getting led into some dark corner, I just had to do something. Right?" she added hopefully.
"Right. Like calling for reinforcements."
"There wasn't time," she snapped. "Do you want me to tell you what happened, or would you prefer to keep making clever comments with the benefit of hindsight?"
To her surprise, Mad-Eye grinned. "Damn right, Tonks. It's all too easy to make good choices when you're sitting nice and cozy. Another thing entirely when you're in the heat of the moment." His spinning eye settled for a moment, locking on to her. "Still, be more careful in the future, unless you want to end up looking like me." He jabbed a finger toward the missing chunk of his nose.
Tonks briefly contemplated what she would look if she took as many curses as Mad-Eye before shuddering and forcing away the thought. It wasn't pretty. "Well, I knocked down the door, and would you believe what I found?"
Mad-Eye grunted. "Death Eating scum. Am I wrong?"
"No," she admitted, a bit put out. Mad-Eye had never known how to set up a dramatic reveal. "But one of them was Renée Malfoy."
Now thatgot a reaction. Mad-Eye cursed vehemently. "Should have known the bitch would be back in Britain. You're lucky to be alive."
"I know." And wasn't that an understatement. "Her partner was good too. He's the one that got me. You're a lying son of a bitch, by the way."
"Yeah? How's that?"
Tonks snorted. "You told me that the Entrail-Expelling Curse didn't hurt all that much."
Mad-Eye burst into laughter, slapping his prosthetic leg. "Is that what they caught you with? Merlin's toenails, that's perfect. I can't believe you believed me."
Tonks glared, briefly considering whether he would retaliate if she threw a jinx at him. Best not to risk it, she decided. Mad-Eye was unpredictable at the best of times.
Finally, he stopped chuckling and fixed her with an intense stare. "Sounds like a mighty sticky situation. I'm surprised you got out at all."
"I was lucky," Tonks admitted. "Frost didn't seem to need much convincing to fight the Death Eaters, and she was… very good. She killed one of them. Well, technically Malfoy did, but it doesn't really count…" She suppressed as shiver at the memory of the male Death Eater's skull peaking out from melting flesh as Frost held him under her curse.
Mad-Eye hummed. "Sounds like the kind of witch we could use on our side. You said that she seemed to have a problem with the Death Eaters?"
Tonks shrugged. "I think it was more that she wasn't happy with their recruitment tactics. Besides, I, uh, don't think she'd be the best option for other reasons."
"Yeah? How's that?"
"Her liberal uses of the Unforgivable Curses, for a start," she said dryly.
Mad-Eye snorted. "Best not to give the pansies heart palpitations," he agreed. "Still, wouldn't hurt to keep in contact. Sometimes a more mercenary approach is what's needed." He smirked. "Besides, we're already part of an illegal paramilitary organization in opposition to the Ministry. Seems to me that we shouldn't be throwing stones."
Tonks nodded absently. It wasn't as if she had the same deep-set fear of the Dark Arts that so many of the rest of the Order did. For all that Andromeda has abandoned her heritage, some parts of her upbringing were not so easily discarded, and in turn she had passed that more open-minded attitude on to Tonks. Even so, it had shaken her at the time. The Unforgivable Curses were not to be taken lightly.
She quickly went over the rest of the events of the night, eventually ending with her mother managing to stop her from bleeding out.
"At least you survived," Mad-Eye said bluntly once she had finished her report. "And you're better off than Podmore. You know that he's still in Mungo's?"
"Really?" Tonks whistled. "What exactly happened to him, anyway?"
"Some new curse—or a very old one, maybe. It didn't look so bad at first, just a bit of a gouge, but that was before it started spontaneously generating maggots. Hungry ones."
Tonks grimaced at the mental image. "And they can't figure out how to fix it?"
He shook his head. "Oh, they healed the cut just fine. But that didn't stop the maggots from appearing inside of him. It's highly contagious too—one of the Healers got bitten on the finger by a maggot and they had to amputate his arm to stop the spread." He paused, then added, "They're not sure if Podmore's going to make it. Poor fucker's literally getting eaten alive."
"Bloody hell," whispered Tonks. She hadn't known him well at all, but it was an absolutely horrifying fate. She suddenly found herself less frustrated by her own injury. At least the Entrail-Expelling Curse had a well known treatment if one survived the initial wound. "Thanks for visiting, Mad-Eye," she said sarcastically. "You have a real talent for cheering people up."
He smirked, rising to his feet. "Just a matter of putting things into perspective." Halfway to the door, he gave her a stern look. "Now, I expect you back on your feet by next week. Otherwise you can explain to Shacklebolt why he keeps having to come up with increasingly creative explanations for your absence from work." He grinned. "And you know he has an interesting imagination."
Tonks grimaced. Maybe following her mother's instructions for a quick recovery wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, however annoying they might be.
~#~
War, Sirius decided, was a tremendous bore.
Honestly, he wasn't sure whether the current state of things could even be described as actual warfare. Over six months had passed since the initial flurry of skirmishes following Voldemort's return. Since then, hostilities had cooled as the Death Eaters deescalated their recruitment efforts, at least in Britain. It was as if they had disappeared overnight. The Order still searched, of course, peering into the darkest corners of the Wizarding World in search of Voldemort's followers, but time and time again, they found nothing.
Some of the Order considered this temporary peace a good sign, that they had hampered Voldemort's operations sufficiently to convince him to stop them entirely, but Sirius had a different, more cynical theory. How many Death Eaters had the Order actually captured or killed? None. And in exchange, Podmore was dead, having finally passed away after months of torment and his own niece had nearly been killed—would have, were it not for his goddaughter who had inflicted the only concrete blow against the Death Eaters since Voldemort's return.
No, this peace was no victory. Rather, Sirius suspected that Voldemort had achieved whatever he had sought, whether that was recruitment, proving himself to his old followers, or some other more unknowable goal. The signs of more subtle activity were clear to those with even the slightest political acumen, which consequently excluded most of the order.
Fudge's continued political feud with Dumbledore, which had started so long ago when he had forced Sirius' trial through the Wizengamot, reeked of Lucius' involvement. With every title or position he lost, Voldemort won a silent victory that cost him nothing and gained him a great deal. It seemed that he had learned patience since the first war. By the time he finally deigned to begin open warfare, the Ministry would be reduced to a hollowed puppet.
Sirius took a sip of his whiskey. Merlin, he was turning into his father. If his sixteen year old self had seen him now, sipping expensive alcohol in his father's study in the house he had hated, pondering the political machinations of the Ministry, he would have been disgusted. But even he had to grow up eventually. Perhaps it had been Azkaban that had done it, or perhaps it had been Violet. His thoughts flickered to the memory of her telling him in no uncertain terms to pull himself together as Wormtail's corpse cooled before them…
A smile slid onto his face at the thought of her. He could only imagine the expressions on the Order twits faces when they realized the Savior was not only alive but had been in contact with him for over a year. It would be soon too, he was certain. She had hinted in her recent letters that she would be returning sometime soon and that she would be publicly declaring her existence. She had even ensured he would have good company by introducing him to Whitby, who had slowly ingratiated himself into the Order. A top rate bloke to be sure, the two of them had struck up a quick rapport. Anyone good enough for Violet was good enough for him.
He had floated the idea of her attending Hogwarts, even if for only a year. He had no doubt that she would learn little from the lessons themselves, but no one of importance attended Hogwarts for the education anyway. Private tutors would always provide superior and less Ministry curated results anyway. No, the real value of Hogwarts was in the opportunity to form connections with the future politicians, Aurors, and researchers of magical Britain. And Violet was sure to take full advantage of such an opportunity. She had all the cunning of a young Narcissa.
And the cruelty of Bella, of course.
He was under no illusion that she would stay out of the coming war. Hell, she had already slain one of Voldemort's followers. He would be ready to stand by her when the time came. Until then, he just had to wait and tolerate the insufferable presence of the Order in his home. At least he had vetoed the Fidelius. He would never again trust that charm after what happened to Lily and James. Besides, the ancient house was well protected already, hundreds of years of Black magic layered atop each other, ready to provide a suitable welcome for unexpected guests. The Fidelius would have compromised all that in exchange for a protection only as secure as a human heart. Personally, Sirius would rather put his trust in ancient and impermeable blood magic.
Perhaps Lily would have wanted him to keep Violet out of the war. James would have likely approved of her fighting but would have been horrified by her methods. Well, Sirius wasn't Lily and he wasn't James, and he certainly wasn't a bright-eyed twenty-one-year-old anymore. He was Sirius Black, and after Azkaban, he had finally come to appreciate what that meant.
He sank deeper into the soft armchair, lulled by the warmth of a crackling fire. War would come, and he would be ready, but peace had its charms as well.