Violet's first four tests were handled by Professor McGonagall, in Charms, Transfiguration, Astronomy and History of Magic. It was clear that Hogwarts didn't typically accept older students as the placement tests seemed hastily written and inconsistent in their academic rigor. Charms and Transfiguration both had a thorough practical and theoretical portion, but Astronomy didn't go much beyond naming some constellations, and History of Magic was almost totally overlooked. That may have been fortuitous because it was the only one of the four subjects that Violet felt largely unprepared for. Thankfully, it didn't seem like even the professors valued it highly.

Charms and Transfiguration had been mostly trivial except for a few spells of such dismal unimportance that, had Violet learned them at some point, she would have made sure to promptly forget them. Still, she was sure that she had left a positive impression by performing every spell nonverbally. She had briefly debated downplaying her abilities but dismissed it quickly. Avoiding attention had its uses, but it would be necessary to somehow differentiate herself from the average schoolchild if she was to gain the respect and following she would need to win a war.

And now she was descending into the dungeons to meet with Professor Snape for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Unlike McGonagall, who Sirius had only mentioned briefly, she had had a very vivid picture of Snape painted as an untrustworthy and cowardly cur responsible for all evil in the world. Violet would make up her own mind. She knew he was a member of the Order, and she doubted Dumbledore was in the habit of recruiting the unreliable or incompetent.

"Enter," a cold voice announced a moment before Violet could rap on the heavy oak door to Snape's classroom.

The door creaked as she opened it. A dour man with an unfortunately long and crooked nose who could only be Snape sat behind a desk. The students' desks had been pushed to the sides of the room and it seemed that he was taking advantage of the Hogwarts equipment and reagents to perform some research of his own. Wafts of steam rose from a small silver cauldron filled with an inky black liquid, set over a low flame. He took her in impassively.

"Sit," he said, gesturing carelessly toward desks.

As Violet dragged one of the desks over, Snape produced a sheet of parchment. "Your Potions test. There will be no practical, as I have no doubt that even an exceptionally abysmal performance will have no bearing on your admittance. I'm sure there will be ample opportunity for you to demonstrate your knowledge, or lack thereof, once classes begin." His expression twisted into a grimace at the thought.

She took one look at the parchment, then gave him a dubious look. He studiously ignored her, tending to the simmering black liquid. The "test" consisted of only three questions, one of which was her name. The next asked her to spell the word "cauldron" and the third asked what the color of the Boil Cure potion was.

"Seriously?"

He sneered. "I don't know what paltry excuse for an education you have received in the past, so I will forgive your impertinence once. In the future, you will address me as professor or sir. As for this… test, since I am not permitted to decide who to admit to my pre-NEWT classes, I see little reason to design a meticulous exam."

Violet suppressed a surge of anger, showing no reaction. How dare he demand she address him with respect after admitting he took no pride in his work? She hastily scribbled some answers, not bothering to make them neat. If Snape didn't care, she didn't either.

"Well?," she said, handing over the parchment. "What's for Defense, then? Perhaps the incantation of the Disarming Charm?"

Not deigning to respond, Snape pulled out another sheet of parchment. He glanced at it briefly then, after a moment's consideration, deliberately crumpled it into a ball before tossing it over his shoulder. Whip-fast, he snapped, "Demonstrate the Disarming Charm."

"On you? Sir?"

Snape's lip curled. "You are welcome to try… if you dare." There was a strange note to his tone that made Violet wonder if she was being intentionally goaded, but she wasn't one to back down from such an obvious challenge.

She waited a second and another. Then, in a single smooth motion, she flicked her hand from her sleeve and through a spiral motion. Expelliarmus!

As she expected, Snape was ready with his wand under the desk, and a powerful shield swirled around him. No doubt he was expecting for her spell to rebound off it and send her diving ignominiouslyto the ground to avoid it. Instead, the flash of red light passed by him, striking the cauldron with a metallic ring and knocking it off its stand over the fire. Black liquid spilled from it, spreading across the stone like an inky mirror.

"Oops," she whispered. "I seem to have missed. That'll be points off, I suppose?"

A dangerous look came over Snape as he looked between the spilled potion and her, one eye pulsing erratically. To her surprise, she realized that he wasn't just glaring at her. There was a tingling sensation in the base of her skull, and immediately cleared her mind until there was nothing but a field of endless white.

Two Legilimens? What the hell's going on with this school?

Snape's eyes narrowed further, but he was looking more calculating than angry now, and the pressure on her mind disappeared. "Imprecision aside, your spell was… adequate." He drummed his fingers against his desk. "For how long have you been able to cast nonverbally?"

"A few years," Violet said, shrugging. "It's quite essential."

"Quite." He gestured with his wand, vanishing the spilled potion. "Demonstrate the Stupefying Charm."

Violet noticed that he pointedly did not specify a target but decided not to push her luck. A red bolt collided with a chair, knocking it over.

"Reductor curse."

"Full-Body Bind."

"Impediment Jinx."

"I don't know that one," Violet admitted.

"I see. The incantation is impedimenta and the motion is a horizontal line. Humor me."

She shrugged. "Impedimenta," she said, casting it verbally as she was not familiar with the spell. A blue-green light struck a desk, doing nothing of note, but Snape nodded, arching one eyebrow, so she assumed it had worked.

This continued for several minutes before Snape paused, seemingly in thought. Finally, he said, "And what, pray tell, is the incantation to bring forth cursed flame?"

Violet answered immediately. "That's a trick question. There's no true incantation, just strong intent and emotional requirements. Some casters find that an arbitrary incantation helps them achieve the necessary mindset, creating a great deal of misinformation about the spell since it's—wait. Fiendfyre is illegal, there's no way that's on the curriculum."

Snape smirked. "Indeed it is not. I merely was… curious. In any case, as you have just demonstrated the majority of the content of the Defense Against the Dark Arts fifth year curriculum, I suppose you have passed. Now leave."

Violet did as she was bade, unable to suppress the feeling that she had not come out the better of that exchange.

~#~

"The girl is abnormal."

"I see."

"I mean it," Severus hissed. "Don't just dismiss this because you can't see the truth through your guilt. It wouldn't be the first time your vision has been clouded."

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his brow. "I did hear you the first time. And while I appreciate the timely reminder of my own fallibility—it wouldn't do to become overconfident, after all—I would invite you to consider that, perhaps, your own perspective is slightly biased in regard to Violet Potter."

"And there it is. You've already decided my opinion is invalid, then came up with a reason to justify it. I don't know why I even try. Never mind that you specifically asked me to assess her and that if anyone should be able to recognize the signs of a budding practitioner of the Dark Arts, it's me."

"You misunderstand. I fully concur with your assessment."

"I—what?"

"Indeed." A sardonic smile crossed Dumbledore's face. "I suppose it says something unfortunate about me that you immediately assumed I was too arrogant or bullheaded to consider another perspective."

Severus pointedly offered no apology.

Dumbledore slowly shook her head. "From the first moment I saw her, it was clear that her life had been very far from what I would have wanted for her. She certainly didn't get the peaceful upbringing I once imagined. In fact, the way she held herself reminded me a little of an old… friend." And then, in an odd tone that sounded like he was remembering something from a very long time ago, said, "It's not arrogance if it's true, Albus."

Ignoring the tantalizing glimpse of Dumbledore's past that he knew from experience would never be elaborated on, Severus snorted. "I hardly think that she's above arrogance. She is the daughter of James Potter, after all."

"Really, Severus?" Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. "How much of her father—or Lily, for that matter—do you see in her?"

"I don't know," Severus snapped, then added, wholly unbelievably, "the thought didn't cross my mind."

Dumbledore nodded, accepting Severus' words, then pulled open a drawer and withdrew a small wooden bowl filled with yellow candies. "Sherbert lemon?"

Severus let out a strangled exclamation. "Really?"

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he took a candy for himself. "Come now. In these tumultuous times, why not set a happier precedent?"

"Bloody hell," Severus said, but he took a candy, holding it like a particularly unpleasant potion ingredient. He tried it, then made a face. "Too sweet. Unsurprising."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Six hundred and seven."

"What?"

"That's how many times I've offered you a sweet before you accepted one. It's quite impressive. Minerva only made it to just over a hundred, and no one else has come anywhere close."

"Of course you would keep track of that," muttered Severus, shaking his head.

Still shaking slightly with mirth, Dumbledore said, "As for more serious matters, I do not believe we have any reason to view Violet Potter's return as anything other than the wonderfully fortuitous thing it is."

"And the Dark Lord? When he learns of this, he will be… unpredictable."

"Indeed, but this also presents us a valuable opportunity," said Dumbledore, giving Severus a meaningful look. "It may be enough for you to fully regain his trust."

"You want me to tell him immediately?" Severus asked, face impassive.

"It seems prudent, yes. We won't be able to hide her after term begins in any case, nor should we seek to, I think. This may be your chance to finally regain his confidence, especially if you suggest that I told you not to tell him."

"It's possible," Severus conceded, though privately he was doubtful. The Dark Lord's trust was no easy thing to gain, especially not for the second time. "Very well. And how much should I tell him?"

"I leave that up to you. I daresay you are as close as there is to an expert in deceiving him, or at least in doing so without bringing a truly dire fate upon yourself." Dumbledore chuckled.

Severus didn't think it was very funny.

~#~

True to his word, Violet found Sirius a bottle and a half deep in drunken conversation with Hagrid, the jovial groundskeeper-turned-professor, whose herculean stature was matched only by his apparent tolerance for alcohol. Sirius clearly had not fared so well, swaying unsteadily as she politely extracted him from the situation.

"How'd the tests go?"

"Fine. Except Snape's Potions test was a joke and I'm pretty sure his Defense one was a trap."

"Stupid Snivellus," Sirius slurred. "Stupid slimy Snivellus. Can't believe Dumbledore let him be a professor."

By the time they crossed Hogwarts' gates, Sirius had sobered up a little and Violet had been treated to a long and tedious lecture on Snape's slimy, cowardly, and cruel ways. She diplomatically avoided pointing out that perhaps it might be time to let go of that particular grudge.

She Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, followed shortly after by Sirius, grumbling halfheartedly over her underage Apparition. They were greeted by the portrait of Sirius' mother's screeching, as usual.

"I still don't get why you haven't taken her down," Violet said as Sirius wrestled to pull the heavy curtains over the portrait.

"I've tried," Sirius snapped. "Repeatedly. But there's a Permanent Sticking Charm and a bunch of others I have no idea about on it." He sighed. "I've tried everything."

Violet quirked an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure I could come up with a few things you haven't tried yet."

"'Cause that's not ominous at all," Sirius muttered as he drained a tall glass of water. He snapped his fingers. "By the way, I meant to ask you, how would you feel about meeting an old friend of James and mine? Remus Lupin? He was at the meeting you walked in on, but I don't suppose you would have recognized him."

Violet frowned. The name was familiar. "Didn't you mention him back when we first met? I thought he'd dropped off the face of the Earth."

"He was, but he finally showed his face when he heard I was innocent. Turns out he was in Germany the whole time and managed to track me down." He frowned. "How'd he come up, anyway, in… the Shack? Can't remember my time on the run too clearly, to be honest."

"I believe it was your dying wish," Violet said dryly. "Right after I took care of Bartemius Crouch, if I recall correctly."

"Right," said Sirius, a faraway look in his eyes. "Fuckin' Crouch. Maybe we should 'take care of him.'"

"You serious?" Violet asked. "Because we could do it and put up a Dark Mark or something to try to pin it on the Death Eaters, put just a little more pressure on their covert activities. Isn't he infamous for ruthlessly fighting them? Not hard to believe that someone might hold a grudge."

Sirius stared. "I was, uh, joking. Not too keen on the idea of going back to Azkaban."

"Well, the idea would be to do it without getting caught," Violet said, rolling her eyes. "Although, given how the last assassination I was involved in went, it'd probably go tits up immediately and we'd have to cut down half of the DMLE. That would probably outweigh any benefits from framing the Death Eaters."

"Last… assassination?" Sirius repeated weakly.

"No one you'd know," Violet said, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway, let me know if you change your mind. I'm off to the library. Did you know your ancestors came up with some seriously messed up curses? To think I used to have to scrounge through Knockturn Alley bookstores to find anything good." Halfway out of the room, she added, "Oh, and I don't have any problem with you bringing Lupin around if you want. Just, you know, give me a heads up so I can make sure not to be in the middle of anything… sensitive."

~#~

The Black library smelled like old parchment, quality leather, and something else, subtle but sharp, like wrought iron or perhaps blood. Despite the years of decay the rest of the house had suffered, the library was immaculate, clearly cared for by some unseen force far more reliable than the addled house elf Sirius had freed. Comfortable chairs, their black leather soft and uncracked, were set around ornate tables of walnut and mahogany, all lit by black candles, their spectral silvery flames cool and undying. It was perfect. Frankly, Violet was kicking herself for not moving in with Sirius sooner.

That wasn't to say that perusing the library was by any means a relaxing experience. Centuries of dark magic saturated it, and even books not explicitly cursed tended to have distinctly malicious personalities. She wasn't a true Black, their blood running only thinly in her veins, and her presence caused ancient ancestral magics to stir themselves to expel a perceived intruder. She suspected Winter's influence was contributing too. Judging by the tapestries of beautiful red-haired men and women dancing under boughs of holly in the halls and the wreaths of spun golden thread, the Black family had once been affiliated with Summer, back when the mundane world and the Wyld were not so distant. Those days were long ago now, and she doubted that any living Black was even aware of that particular aspect of their history, but the library, at least, remembered still.

She took a seat at her favorite desk and pulled the chair closer, then opened a drawer and pulled out a book. Its cover was bone white and unnamed. As she cracked it open to the bookmark she had left in it, it struck, a coil of necrotic energy leaping from the spine toward her hand. Without really thinking, she caught it on fingers haloed in a blue glow, the black light dancing between her fingers. She pressed them against the book, forcing the curse back whence it came. With a sound like a sigh, the pages settled, relenting to her once more.

The text was old, handwritten and faded, and entirely in Latin. That wouldn't be a problem in itself, as it was quite common in many older volumes of magical theory, and her grasp of the language was fairly good, but it seemed that whoever had written this book favored an obscure dialect she hadn't encountered before. It wasn't anything that had ever been spoken, she was confident.

Still, the subject matter was fascinating enough to make the slog worth it. The first chapters had described the process of raising an Inferius, which was interesting but not particularly applicable to her. Violet had no interest in packing corpses with various fragrant herbs over the course of weeks to create a servant of dubious value. The later chapters were… another matter. It was clear that the author's interest in the field of Necromancy was of much greater ambition than merely animating shambling corpses.

It spoke of the ultimate question of all Necromancers, the eternal dream of returning the dead to true life or, failing that, preventing a soul from passing in the first place. Numerous, countless, measures had been pursued over the millennia, from obscure soul magic to the fruitless hunt for the fabled Resurrection Stone. But, the author claimed, there was no convincing evidence that any had found real success. The Stone was likely no more than a rumor, and while it was technically possible to separates ones soul from their body and store it in an object, what followed was an existence that could hardly be called life.

Violet knew better. Somehow, Voldemort had found a way to achieve what thousands before him had failed to. And unless she could just what he had wrought and how to see it undone, she didn't think much of her chances. As long as Voldemort could claim power over death, there would be no victory for her.

So she read on, pushing through the strangely conjugated verbs and meandering tangents, searching for the scrap of knowledge that might make all the difference in the end. The text lead her on a winding tale of foul Herpo and fair Morgana, of Necromantic horrors and the Sisyphean search for eternal life. It was by far the most in depth book she had ever read on the subject. Unfortunately, the only conclusion she could draw was that Voldemort must have been singularly talented to pierce the veils of rumor and myth to seize the prize of prizes.

She dropped the back on on the desk with a soft thump, knowing from experience that by the next day it would have returned to its place on the shelves, moved by an unseen hand. Drifting between the tall bookcases, she waited for inspiration to strike her. A tall book whose spine was emblazoned with a wolf with a stone face caught her eye, and as she flipped through it, she saw that it primarily discussed Transfiguration, particularly concerning the further modifications of Transfigured creatures with inanimate elements to improve their durability and appearance. Reluctantly, she put it back. There would be plenty of books on Transfiguration at Hogwarts, probably more clearly written and with fewer archaic references as well. The true value of the Black library was in the fields of magics most would prefer not to think about, let alone condone discussion and pursuit of.

~#~

The Order only had one more meeting before the start of term. The afternoon before the evening meeting, Lupin finally made an appearance after ducking what seemed like dozens of Sirius' invitations. He looked tired, even sickly if Violet were to be uncharitable.

She entered the room, rubbing a sore spot on her hand where a cursed book had burned her. He was staring at an unlit fireplace, Sirius conveniently absent. He looked up at her. "Siri—oh." He seemed to go a little stiff at the sight of her.

"Lupin, right?" Violet said, extending one hand.

"Ah, just Remus, please." As he took her hand, she felt the briefest flash of something sharp and terrible, like a thousand lunatic voices screaming into the void.

She cocked her head with a little half-smile. Now that she was closer, she could see the deep scars crossing the length of his face, on top of countless other fainter ones. "Werewolf, yeah?"

He jerked, then sighed. "Sirius told you, I suppose?"

Violet shook her head. "No. But the moon is waxing, and the selenian influence has never been a subtle one. Besides," she added, gesturing to the scars on her own face, "there are other signs."

He paled. "You're not—"

Laughing, she shook her head. "No. Just forgot to duck, really. A lesson worth learning young."

Remus' brow creased. "And me being a werewolf isn't something that… bothers you?"

"I don't see why it should," she said, shrugging. "I'll probably keep my distance during the full moon, of course."

Remus coughed. "That would be wise, yes."

"Mm. Although, that actually raises an interesting point. I don't actually know how the curse would react…" The werewolf's curse would never affect a true fae, but she was still fundamentally human. Possibly Winter's influence would still be enough to completely drive out the curse, or perhaps they would interact in some unforeseen way. Alas, it was a curiosity that would have to go unanswered. "Probably best not to find out, though."

He gave her a slightly odd look. Sirius chose that moment to push a door open with his shoulder, a burgundy bottle in his hand. "You have to see the basement, Moony—I'm pretty sure there's enough alcohol down there to poison all of Britain." Noticing her, he grinned. "Glad to see you came down, Violet."

"Moony?" Violet asked, arching an eyebrow. "Very subtle."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You told her?"

"As a matter of fact, no. Apparently I smell like the moon."

"Huh," Sirius said. "Well," he continued, brandishing the bottle, "I guarantee you'll be smelling of nothing but this in a bit."

Remus groaned. "It's not even evening. Are you really going to get tossed before the meeting?"

Sirius stared. "Yes. Absolutely. Are you saying you don't want any?"

After a brief moment, Remus suddenly snatched the bottle out of Sirius' grip and took a heavy swig. Sirius let out a barking laugh. "Moony was Remus's old nickname. We all had 'em back at Hogwarts."

"We?"

"Your father, Remus, and me. I was Padfoot, and your father was Prongs."

"And Peter," Remus added, handing the bottle back to Sirius.

"And Peter. Wormtail." He stared at the dusky liquid for a moment, then took a drink. "May he rot."

"We're a terrible influence," Remus muttered, eyeing the rapidly depleting bottle.

Sirius snorted. "That's what you think."

Violet smirked at the comment and leaned back in her chair, contributing only occasionally to the conversation. The two men fell into a practiced repartee, but there was an undercurrent of tension that she wasn't sure if they were even aware of, as if each was acting as though the other was still the young man they had previously known. Possibly, her presence wasn't helping, as Remus seemed slightly uncomfortable around her for reasons she couldn't guess.

"So," said Violet, after both of them had had a fair amount to drink. "What's with these meetings? Planning to overthrow the 'legitimate' government yet? I've been told that's the logical thing to do when faced with an oncoming crisis." She snickered. Even if neither of them got it, any joke at Maeve's expense was worth telling.

"Strictly speaking, I'm pretty sure we shouldn't be talking about it," Remus said. "I realize the situation affects you more than most, but it's not your responsibility to worry about." He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Besides, soon you'll have far more important matters to think about, like putting off essays and trying not to run into Filch in the corridors."

"Of course, of course." Violet's eyes flicked to Sirius. "Tell me, how is Nymphadora? She was there when I arrived, so I trust she is… all put back together."

Sirius took another drink. "She's fine, thank Merlin. Andromeda always had a deft wand for healing. As for the Order, when we're not wasting our time arguing, we're camping in some godforsaken corner of the Department of Mysteries."

"Are you certain this is wise, Sirius?" Remus interjected.

"Aw, pish off," Sirius muttered, waving a halfhearted hand. He held up the bottle and, seeing it was empty, tossed it aside.

The Department of Mysteries. That boded ill. Violet had not forgotten the incident of the two disgraced Unspeakables' collusion with Maeve. "Just waiting?" she asked. "To guard, maybe, or perhaps to steal something? Or do you suspect the Unspeakables are working with Voldemort?"

"Dunno," Sirius said, ignoring Remus' spluttered protests. "Some sort of prophecy, I think. Dumbledore's keeping real hush-hush, but I'd assume it's about Voldemort himself." He shivered slightly at the thought.

"Prophecy," Violet whispered. "So there's another copy after all."

"What?" two voices exclaimed at once.

"See?" Violet smirked. "Sharing information seems like a much more appealing idea when you're the one with all the questions." She leaned forward, tenting her fingers. "If I were you, I would be very curious about just what I was guarding."

Sirius shrugged. "Sounds good to me. 'Course, I would've just told you if you asked earlier."

Remus looked uncertain, but said, "Oh, damn it all. What's the prophecy?"

Violet unceremoniously recited the full extent of the prophecy. A silent moment followed, as Sirius stared at nothing in particular, mouth making small, soundless movements, and Remus rubbed his brow with both hands.

"So. Clearly I'm involved one way or another, so put your concerns aside. I already know Sirius is in, and you're his friend. That's enough for an invitation, at least."

"To what?" Remus asked, voice slightly thick with alcohol.

Violet shrugged. "Take it for what you will, and let me know when you decide." Her eyes flicked to Sirius. "The Order? What, exactly, are they doing? Because it seems to me Dumbledore's getting thrashed by the Daily Prophet at a particularly inconvenient time. Does the Order think the Minister's Imperiused, or does he just fucking despise Dumbledore?"

"Fudge is a damn fool, and Lucius is waving him about like a puppet," Sirius said. "He doesn't have to be Imperiused to be less than useless. Doesn't help that he's had it out for Dumbledore since my trial."

"He's getting more confident," Remus put in abruptly. Violet and Sirius both turned to him and he looked slightly sheepish, but continued. "He's even trying to interfere directly with Hogwarts, which is of course targeted at Dumbledore. He actually asked me to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

Sirius spluttered. "What? Why haven't I heard about this yet?"

Remus sighed. "I turned him down."

"Bloody hell, why?"

Remus took a moment to respond and sighed again. "It's too risky. With the new legislation, if the Ministry found out I was teaching as a werewolf, I wouldn't even make it to Azkaban. And they'll be checking everyone with a fine-tooth comb for something to use against Dumbledore."

"Fucking Ministry bastards," Sirius swore, a dark look spreading over his face. "Maybe Violet had the right idea," he added with a humorless laugh. "Think we could take on the Ministry before Voldemort gets the chance?"

"For the record," Violet said, "I was being slightly facetious. I wouldn't recommend anything quite so rash."

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't fantasize about introducing Crouch to a Dementor."

Violet tipped her head toward him. "Offer still stands."

"Look…" Remus began. "This is all a lot. And clearly, there's more to it than I'm aware of. But don't you think we should go to Dumbledore? Does he even know what the prophecy says?"

Sirius scoffed. "Is there anything he doesn't know? The way I see it, if he's not willing to tell us that the prophecy's about Violet, he doesn't get to hear what we know. If he's on our side, maybe he should start acting like it."

"Sirius," Remus said carefully. "I know you have your problems with him, and believe me, I understand. But this isn't just about you. This isn't Hogwarts. We can't take on the world alone, and look how that turned out for us then!"

"You don't know shit," Sirius snapped. "You just heard the prophecy, and you still think it's Dumbledore who'll win this war? Bollocks." He stood up abruptly, jaw clenched tightly. "You've changed."

"Wait," Violet cut in, raising one hand. Trying to bring in Remus had been a calculated risk, but it was one she had only made because of the friendship she had thought he shared with Sirius. If they parted badly now there was nothing stopping him from going straight to Dumbledore, which had the potential to end very badly. "I appreciate your support, Sirius, but Remus has a point too. I'm not looking to alienate potential allies, just finding people I know I can trust."

"And you don't trust Dumbledore?" Remus asked delicately.

"Should I?" Violet shrugged. "He's the most powerful wizard in Britain, defeats Grindelwald in single combat, and then… what? Spends three decades as a school headmaster? No." She shook her head. "In my experience, no one that powerful is content to retire. Not that there's anything wrong with him having greater plans of course, but if he's holding a dagger behind his back, I'll want to see it before I get in bed with him." Her lips twitched. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Not everything is about power, you know," said Remus.

Violet thought for a moment. "Perhaps not. But war definitely is. Look. You clearly trust Dumbledore and the Order. I get it. They're definitely a better bet than the Ministry. But I'm not willing to sit back, biting my nails, while waiting for someone to take care of things for me, and they're clearly not going to helpfully divulge all their intelligence to a fifteen-year-old who just showed up out of the blue, especially if she's the subject of a prophecy. Unfortunately, I can't afford to wait for that to change."

Remus took a deep breath. "You're asking an awful lot."

"She's really not," Sirius muttered.

Violet laid a hand on Remus' arm, making him flinch back. The mad lunar voices were quieter this time, no more than whispers, and she didn't pull away. "You won't be betraying anyone, Remus. There are two other members of the Order who will happily tell me everything I need to know, and one of them is sitting with us." Quieter now, and for his ears alone, she continued, "It would be a terrible shame if an old friendship were endangered for nothing at all."

Abruptly, she stood up, clapping her hands and rubbing them together. "Well, that was a cheery conversation, wasn't it? Remus, it was a pleasure to meet you. Enjoy the meeting, won't you?"

AN: Well, this takes us over 100k words. 200k, here we come.

As an aside, a few people left reviews saying they were concerned that Violet going to Hogwarts would make the story go downhill. All I can say is that it was planned from Sleet and Hail's first conception and that if your concern is specifically the story getting bogged down in unimportant details and low-hanging character interactions, that shouldn't be an issue. I've got the plot worked out, and I fully intend to maintain appropriate pacing.

Hope you enjoyed and, as always, thanks for the support.